Miscellaneous Plots
by ScottPress
Summary: This is a collection of false starts and plot bunnies that never went anywhere, but I thought they were still worth sharing. Maybe you'll get a laugh or an idea out of them. Titles will indicate if some chapters are connected, otherwise they're standalone pieces.
1. The Pink Flamingo

**The Pink Flamingo**

Harry stepped outside Gringotts into a brilliant summer evening. Whether by magic or some other circumstance, Diagon Alley always caught the best of the setting sunlight. Ron joined him on the bank's marble stairs.

"Nice," said Harry, referring to nothing in particular.

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

"So… drinks?"

Ron nodded, but then his grin faltered. "Leaky Cauldron will be packed, though."

"It's not the only bar in London," Harry said, clapping Ron on the back. "Come on."

They strolled down the street towards old Tom's establishment and passed through the raucous, intoxicated crowd inside, helping themselves with a few covert Banishing Charms. The patrons didn't seem to notice being pushed to the sides by more than the constantly moving throng of people.

A pair of smart transfigurations ("You do it, mate, I'm pants at this finicky stuff," Ron grumbled) likened their robes to mugglewear before they left the Leaky Cauldron behind. London was bustling with activity. A few minutes of searching later, Harry pushed open the door of the first bar he saw that looked to be the right blend of the Hog's Head and the Three Broomsticks. Most of the tables were occupied, but they found two empty seats at the bar itself.

"What can I getcha?" asked the bartender, a giant who seemed to consist entirely of square shapes. Even his hair was trimmed into angles, which made his head look like a cube. Ron eyeballed the man suspiciously and opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it with a click of teeth.

"Let's start with beer," said Harry, slapping a muggle banknote down in front of him. The bartender produced two bottles from under the bar top and popped the caps with his fingernails.

Ron grabbed his beer with some hesitation. "He looks like he got hit with _Engorgio,"_ he said once the bartender was out of earshot.

"Drink," Harry said. "A few of these and you won't care."

Enough rounds later that measuring time in rounds started to make more sense than doing so in hours, Ron decided that alcohol wasn't helping with his discomfort.

"Let's just find another place."

Harry thought it wasn't a bad idea. He glanced at his watch - ah, those tiny numbers didn't help at all.

Fortunately, they found their next destination before the cool evening sobered them up. The Pink Flamingo advertised itself with an eye-searing neon sign above the door. Ron peeked inside. eyes going wide.

"Harry… _look at this!"_

Harry looked. The dark interior was lit up with flashing lights in striking colours and the pounding beat of the music stirred something deep inside him. They didn't make it to the bar before someone spun around them and blocked their way. The man seemed to be about their age - it was hard to tell - and exceptionally groomed _and_ exceptionally sweaty.

"Hello, boys!" he greeted in a low bass even deeper than the music blasting from the speakers. "Are you looking for company?"

Ron ignored the question. "What is that?" he asked instead, pointing at the blue-pink drink.

The man swept damp hair from his forehead and winked at Ron. "Come along, you can get one yourself."

"Thish place is faaaan-tashtic!" slurred Ron sometime later. Harry nodded in agreement, bobbing his head to the music. He wasn't a good dancer and normally not one for partying, but the blue-pink nectar lowered all inhibitions. Ron seemed to have micro flashes of sobriety whenever someone moved in towards his face, but he just pushed them away and kept moving, sloshing his drink all over himself.

Harry had heard of gay bars before. Ron hadn't. It was probably best to keep it that way, but silly concerns like that gradually gave way to the pleasant buzz between Harry's ears and some unpleasant fluctuations in his stomach. He half-stumbled, half-danced his way to the bathroom as the conga line passed by it. Shielded from view in one of the stalls, he whipped out his wand and tapped it on the front of his robes - the Bowel Soothing Charm was one of Hermione's most brilliant innovations, Harry thought. It all but replaced Snape's Bowel Settling Draught. Served the dead bastard right.

"Har-rry!" The nice man from before almost tackled him to the floor.

Harry frowned. "How you done?" he asked, taking care to enunciate clearly. He glanced at the empty glass in his hand. Had it been tainted with Babbling Solution? Snape, that bastard!

"What'd he do?" asked Ron, sliding into the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

Harry felt his eyebrows ride up into his sweaty fringe. "Who?"

Ron made an evocative gesture with his hands, gazing at him intensely. When that didn't help, he uttered, "Shnape!"

"Oh." Harry looked up at the ceiling, then down at Blue-pink Drink Man clinging to his chest. "I think... Shnape is dead, mate."

Ron shrugged and turned around, marching with purpose towards the bar. Harry poked the gently whimpering Sweaty Hair Man. "You okay?"

Deep-voiced Man pulled himself up to standing more-or-less straight and wiped his face - which didn't amount to much, because his shirt was as damp as the rest of him. He nodded, but his pained expression cast doubt on that silent statement. Harry put a hand on his shoulder, trying to convey sympathy.

"You don't sheem oh-kay," he said.

Damp Hawaiian Shirt Man nod- shook- nodded- shook his head and let out a blood-curdling wail. Behind him, Ron, precariously balancing three blue-pink drinks in two hands, jumped up, startled. Most of the alcohol splashed on the already wet tiled floor.

"Harry Harry Harry!" Ron yelled over the music. "Get your wand out! Banshee!" Potential danger made his speech much more coherent.

"Nah, no worries," Harry said. "Just our friend here-"

 _"_ _He broke up with meeeeeee!"_ their friend shrieked. This time, Ron dropped the empty glasses and fumbled for his wand.

"Are you sure?" Ron demanded, eyes wild. Harry nodded once, twice, thrice and a few more times.

"I'm sure. Now put it away b'fore someone sees."

"HARRY!"

Ron looked increasingly sober and panicked. He spun in a circle, wand outstretched. Harry sighed, rubbing his face.

"Harry, I'm telling you, _there's a banshee here somewhere!"_

"No, that was Hermione."

Ron blinked rapidly several times. "What?"

"You better go, mate," said to Recently Single Man, who wiped his face again and disappeared into the surging crowd on the dance floor.

Hermione pushed through that same crowd, stalking towards them in a deliberate fast-walk that dared them to ask what was wrong so she could do something scary with her wand.

Harry barely had time to take a step back before she grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

He smiled, albeit nervously. Cold sweat poured down his face. Thank Merlin he had already been sweating.

"You got here on your damned boat, yes?" she asked four inches from his nose.

Ron objected to such disrespectful misclassification. "It's a _ship-"_

"Shut up," Hermione snapped, without even looking at him. Ron immediately looked down.

"Okay."

"So…" Harry squinted, trying to zero in on the tip of her nose as Hermione shortened the distance even further. "Your _boat._ You sailed it here from Africa?"

Harry nodded.

"You left it at the dock in the Smuggler's Corner, yes?"

Harry nodded again.

"Did you know that you're required to be present on deck during an inspection?"

Harry nodded for the third time. Then he realised something.

"Hold on - what inshpecshon?"

Hermione released him and threw up her hands. "Percy wanted to make sure you haven't brought it any contraband-"

"Pershy the party-pooper," Ron mumbled.

"-and he found a live nundu in the cargo hold!"

Harry dug into his pocket for two vials of Wit-Sharpening Potion. It wasn't the Sobriety Solution, but it would do in short-term. He handed one to Ron and drank the other one himself. Hermione was impatiently tapping her foot.

 _"_ _Why_ did you have a live nundu on board?"

Harry corrected his slipping glasses. "We're taking it to Hogwarts. We've got papers and everything."

"Hogwarts," Hermione repeated deadpan.

"Mhm."

"For Hagrid's class?"

"Uh-huh."

Hermione's nose was back at four-inch distance. _"_ _Have you lost your mind?"_ she hissed.

"Hey hey!" Harry put up his hands in defence. "Hey! We drugged it."

"Draught of Living Death," Ron said.

"Enough to knock out- two nundus!"

"It was sleeping," Ron added.

"The whole way."

"Well, it's not sleeping anymore," Hermione said. "Percy woke it up by accident - because you weren't present for the inspection."

A horrifying image of a nundu rampaging through muggle London flashed before Harry's eyes, but was quickly replaced with something he thought was just as relevant. "But we didn't know about any inspection," he said.

"Oh, stop pouting," Hermione snapped.

"I'm not pouting," Harry said with a pout.

Hermione closed her eyes and seemed to be praying, judging by her quickly moving lips. Harry wasn't sure - her balled-up fists cast doubt on that assumption.

"Percy's never liked us," Ron grumbled. "Or our ship."

"True," Harry agreed. "I think he's jealous."

Hermione's eyes opened and for a moment her look was almost as piercing as Dumbledore's. _"_ _That - is - not - important._ There is a wild nundu in London. I don't care who's fault it is - you're going to help catch it."

Harry glanced at Ron and they both shrugged.

"So what's one nundu?"


	2. Reunion

**Reunion**

Neville smiled seeing his friends arrive.

"Hermione, Justin. It's so nice you could come. I know that you're very busy in the Ministry..."

Hermione smiled back. "Neville, I wouldn't miss it for the world, it's big news. And you're right, we're doing our best, but proposing a new law and actually putting it in writing are two very different things."

"Hermione insists that we cross check with all existing laws to make sure that there aren't any mistakes," said Justin, beaming with pride. "Although I keep telling her that we could delegate some of the more mundane paperwork... Merlin knows we've got applicants banging on our doors..."

"And risk one of those applicants muck things up?" Hermione interrupted. "I'd rather do it myself, even if it takes a bit more time. And what do you mean by _mundane_ paperwork, anyway? Every line of that document is equally important!"

"Wrackspurts must be getting to you," said Luna.

"Thank you! That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Er, she meant you, Hermione," Neville corrected.

Anticipating a potential disaster, Justin changed the subject.

"So who else is coming?"

"Well, Dean, Seamus and Susan are on their way," said Neville.

Justin pulled him to the side.

"Are they still... you know... all together?"

Neville's face reddened. He was never quite comfortable talking about those things. Susan's polygamous ways had caused a spectacular scandal a few years back, especially since Rita's article was published in the middle of Amelia Bones' reelection campaign. In retaliation, Harry and Ron were prepared to stuff the ballot boxes to ensure Amelia's victory. Fortunately, Hermione talked them out of it, pointing out that there weren't even sixty thousand voters in Wizarding Britain. Harry had been disappointed. He'd had great plans for his newly opened printing house. In the end, he gave it to Luna. The Quibbler had expanded since.

Hermione had been too late, however, to stop Fred and George from stuffing the ballot boxes in Harry's favor, who, they thought, had some great ideas for running the country.

"If I was the Minister for Magic, I would overturn the Malfoys' patent from seventeen-eighty-two," he declared loudly on his seventeenth birthday. "Because, y'know, maybe other people want to try platinum hair. And while we're on the topic of Malfoys, I would ban snake-head canes. Those things are creepy and hideous. Besides, everyone knows that a _lion-head_ cane would be much more better."

Aurors had to intervene when a small riot erupted on the High Street in Hogsmeade after Justin claimed that a honey badger was clearly a superior cane ornament.

Harry won the election, but since all the votes he received were fraudulent, Amelia Bones, stayed on as Minister.

Neville loosened his collar a bit.

"Um, yes," he said. "They're living together now, I think. In London. Anyway, Blaise is supposed to be getting a portkey from Italy right about now," he continued, glancing at his watch. "Ginny and Astoria said they we're coming too."

"Any word from Harry and Ron?"

"Not a whisper. I suppose they're still in Africa..."

"Assuming they're still alive," a new voice joined in.

Heads turned to Blaise, who strolled in, clad in latest fashion and wearing sunglasses.

"What's this great secret you want to share? And where's the alcohol?" he asked, making his way among the crowded tables of the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione glared at him, outraged.

"Blaise! There are students here!" she hissed. Blaise removed his sunglasses with a florish and tried to make eye contact with every female student that looked seventeen or close enough that he didn't care.

Blaise was kind of a pervert.

Shortly, everyone save for Harry and Ron gathered in a private room on the top floor. The guests sat around the table, while Neville raised a glass of champagne.

"First of all, I'd like to thank all of you for coming. I know that some had to cancel other plans and it means a lot to have all our friends here-"

The speech was interrupted by the window flying open. The shelves rattled, the window slammed shut and finally two broom riders dispelled their Disillusionment Charms.

Hermione looked at them disapprovingly.

"Couldn't you use the door?"

"Hey," Harry said. "We've been gone for three months and the first thing out of your mouth is a complaint?"

"How'd it go?" asked Blaise. "And what were you doing again?"

"A clan of kiddy necromancers," said Ron. "Well, they were amateurs until we found out about their boss."

"A shaman from Peru. Bloke had a tree branch for a hand and I swear he was smoking something," Harry added. "It worked though. They must have had at least ten thousand inferi."

Hermione was skeptical. "Where in Africa would a clan of Dark wizards hide ten thousand inferi? Honestly, boys..."

"Underground," said Harry, grinning. "And it's not like they magicked up that legion overnight. I know a thing or two about Dark wizards. They're a crafty lot."

"I'm guessing you decided to cut all of them down by yourselves?" Blaise interjected lazily. "It probably wouldn't have taken you three months if you'd brought a few more people along."

"But then we'd have to share the bounty," said Ron.

"And fame," added Harry. "We're going to soar up in Hit-wizard rankings."

"As if your egos needed to be inflated further," Hermione said. "The only other person I know who cares so much about their reputation is Malfoy."

"That's not fair," Ron said. "Malfoy is an idiot who fails at anything he touches."

"Except making mountains of money in the potions business," Justin pointed out.

"Well, yes, except that," Ron agreed, shrugging.

Ron never saw potion-making as a legitimate profession.


	3. Thunder Sky

**AN:** Harry Potter/Gothic crossover (Gothic is a dark fantasy RPG from 2001, created by Piranha Bytes).

 **Thunder Sky**

 _Kill, or be killed – it's the only way to survive in a world where clawed and fanged death waits around every corner._

 **PROLOGUE: Frenzy**

 _Day 392_

A hand tapped his shoulder.

"How are you holding up?"

"Fine."

Harry kept his eyes glued to the stony path below. It wouldn't do to let one of them slip through because he wasn't watching. Orcs were sneakier than most gave them credit for.

Milten sat down beside him on the stone floor, his back against the wall. He craned his neck and risked a peek outside through a gaping hole, where the wall had been blasted apart.

"They've been quiet for a while," he said. "Maybe they're gone?"

Harry shook his head. "Diego says otherwise. He thinks they're regrouping, but they'll be back."

"Well, Diego knows more about orcs than I do," Milten conceded.

Not taking his eyes off the path, Harry switched to a more comfortable position.

"Has he found a way out yet?"

"No. The blasted rocks are to steep to climb. And even if we could climb up, we would probably just run into more orcs, so it looks like we'll have to hack and burn our way out after all."

"Unless they manage to starve us to death first," Harry joked, grinning.

"Ah, yes. Some morbid humor never hurt anyone. Sadly, we have plenty of food."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"The supplies we took with us are all but gone. We have enough for one more day, perhaps. After that, it'll be orc stew."

Harry froze.

"You're joking, of course."

"Ha! I wish. Then again, I'll take orc meat over starvation. I've seen people starve before – it's not pretty. Besides, you've eaten some disgusting things before."

"Sure, but... orcs are intelligent creatures-"

"So are snappers. They ambush hunters, but you've sampled roasted snapper."

"You know what I mean!" Harry protested. "Orcs are _sentient_ , like us. They have a culture, a language..."

Milten shrugged. "Suit yourself. There'll be more for the rest of us."

Harry licked his lips. "Great, now you've made me hungry."

Milten handed him a piece of stale bread and some cheese. Harry grunted his thanks and eagerly bit into his pitiful meal.

"I wonder if orcs ever give up," Milten muttered. "We must have killed several dozen already, and it's only been one day. Yet they kept coming."

"I reckon there are more of them under the Barrier than humans, and there are quite a few of us here."

"I don't doubt that, but there are only six of us – how many of their own are they prepared to sacrifice?"

"Judging by my count, a lot," Harry said between bites.

Milten's eyebrows rose. "You've been keeping track?"

Harry smirked at the mage. "Twenty-three."

" _Right._ I'm not sure I believe you."

"Jealousy does not become you, my friend."

Their argument was interrupted by the blearing of a horn coming from the north. They were on their feet within seconds, just in time to see several orcs emerge from between the rocks. Their leader was huge – the biggest orc Harry had ever seen – and clad in solid armor from head to toe. He brandished a broadsword at least as long as Harry was tall.

Milten retrieved his favorite runestone from the pouch on his belt and conjured a flame which he then threw in the orc's direction. The fireball splashed against the armor plates, but the orc didn't even slow down. Enraged, he swung his sword over his head and gave a thunderous roar.

Harry and Milten shared a look.

"I'm thinking let Gorn handle this one."

"Agreed. There are plenty more to kill, anyway."

Harry ducked behind cover as an arrow zipped over his head.

"Stay here, keep them scattered," Milten said. "You're good at this sort of thing. I'll see what I can do downstairs."

With that, the mage was gone. Now alone in his perch, Harry grabbed one of his runes and called on his magic, concentrating on a large rock, one of the many littering the ground. The pineapple-sized chunk rose into the air. Harry thrust his hand forward and the rock followed, smashing into an orc with the force of a cannonball. Harry directed the rock upward and then brought it down, burying it in the orc's chest.

With a grim smile, Harry yanked his improvised wrecking ball free and chose his next victim. The rock, now dripping orc blood, shot across the small battlefield as more orcs made their way up the narrow path, slamming into one of the new arrivals. The orc let out a yelp and stumbled backward, into several of his brethren. Harry prepared to end his life...

...but he rock was unexpectedly wrestled from his control and launched straight at him. He had just enough time to comprehend what happened and dive onto the floor.

" _Sonofabitch!_ "

The rock tore through the wall, showering him with debris. He grunted in pain when a fragment landed on his back, knocking the breath out of him. The tool of his near-death was now a part of the opposite wall.

Another chunk demolished the wall further, reminding Harry of Dobby's rogue bludger.

So, the orcs brought their own mage along this time.

"You want to play? Let's play," Harry snarled, rolling away from the front wall. He wasn't going to hide up here when there was an enemy mage prowling the battlefield. He wasn't particularly keen on the idea of jumping into the fray on the ground, but he would find his target faster that way. The view from where was now left some blind spots and the mage could be in one of them.

He stormed down the stairs, jumping four, five at a time and left the building proper to step into a small, rectangular courtyard, surrounded by the crumbling ruins. Orcs were pouring in through a short hallway at the far end, walking straight into the swings of Gorn's axe and Lester's mace. Diego did his best to slow down their advance, letting loose arrow after arrow. Milten was nowhere in sight – he was probably inside the front building, wreaking havoc among the orcs' reinforcements. In the middle of all this chaos was Sirius.

Harry's godfather danced from orc to orc, a dagger in one hand and a runestone in the other, taking care of anyone who tried to flank Gorn and Lester. Watching him, it was hard to believe that he'd only been in the Colony for little over a year.

There was no finesse in Sirius' style – he simply aimed at the unprotected flesh, slashing and stabbing as he narrowly avoided the orcs' heavy blades. The runestone in his left hand glowed brightly, spitting fire in the orcs' faces. His technique left a lot to be desired, but his speed and keen balance made him no less deadly than any of their companions.

He ducked under an orc's fist and simultaneously stabbed his opponent in the gut - the dagger pierced the torn leather chestpiece like paper.

"Harry!" he yelled. "You're missing all the fun!"

Harry punched the air. His runestone lit up and the orc in front of him pirouetted away and bounced off the wall. Sirius leapt in his direction and plunged the dagger into the orc's chest.

Harry grabbed his own weapon – a lightweight hammer. In truth, it was just a three-foot long cane with an iron cuboid attached at one end. He'd tried out a number of weapons, but while he was quick on his feet, it had quickly become apparent that he had no talent for fine swordsmanship. A hammer was a good fit for him – crude, but effective. Put some force into the swing and the damage would be done.

He stood back to back with Sirius as several orcs circled them, communicating in their throaty language. Their intense body odour filled his nostrils, sharpening his senses. In a moment, these natural hunters would move in for the kill. Harry grinned in anticipation.

Just another day in the Colony.


	4. Images in Reflections, Chapter One

**AN:** A pretty good start to a sprawling, 7-year AU that's never going to happen because I'm not that dedicated.

 **Images in Reflections**

 **Chapter One: Dreams of Glass**

Harry held his wand aloft, his grip delicate but true, just like his father had shown him. He put one foot forward, his back straight, head held high - a duelist's stance.

He aimed at an imaginary foe, picturing the blue robes and golden cloak worn by the Royal Legion, Grindelwald's elite warriors. A fitting opponent for a Knight.

He thrust his wand-arm forward, a spell on his lips.

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The curse struck a young tree, posing as the Royal Legionnaire. It had been swaying ever so slightly in the wind, but when the spell touched it, the movement ceased. The wind still blew through the garden, but not a single leaf trembled.

Harry spun around and cast the spell once more. This time, one of mother's rose bushes played the part of an enemy, becoming as still as the tree.

Without looking back, he turned and leapt forward, tearing right through a stretch of hedgerow, the branches swallowing him whole. He came out the other side, wincing as thorns prickled him through his cloak. The animated shrub shuddered as it spat him out.

Ahead loomed a great shadow, as tall as a house and bigger than a troll. Harry looked up at the old oak, imagining thick arms and legs sprouting from the trunk, a war axe being hefted to cleave him in half...

He drew a small object from his pocket, lifting it to meet the axe coming down. At his wordless urging, the artifact shone with a brilliant light, but the giant kept coming after him. Harry jumped aside, staring at the ground, where he had stood a moment before, as the axe came down.

He held up the magical light again, but it was for naught. The oak - the giant - was determined to turn him into minced meat.

Harry launched himself in the opposite direction, towards the far end of the garden-battlefield. He stumbled and tripped as the sunset flickered on his glasses, blinding him.

He had managed to hold onto his wand. He sprang up from the ground, spitting out dried leaves and faced the giant, ready to make this place his last stand...

His light was gone. Eyes going wide, he closed a fist around it, willing it to shine, but it remained dull. The runes inscribed into the metal looked as if they had suddenly been sapped of magic.

"That's not right," Harry muttered, his game forgotten. Frowning, he started back towards the house at a lively pace. It was getting late. He should go back anyway.

He leaned against one of a pair of slim trees, with smooth, white trunks. He closed his eyes, concentrating, but to no effect.

He took another step forward, and right then, the talisman lit up again, as radiant as ever. Harry stared at it, looking for an insight into this occurrence, but none came.

"Weird."

He canceled the magic on the tree and rose bush on his way back, revelling in the act of magic. He'd only had his wand for several weeks, but already he couldn't imagine not having it with him at all times. His parents seemed to treat theirs like one would a cauldron or a telescope - an ordinary tool. Harry couldn't wrap his head around that. How does one even begin to perceive magic in such a mundane way? It seemed wrong. He had told his parents as much, but they just smiled and left his remark without comment.

"Harry!" he heard his mother's calling from the porch. "Oh, there you are."

Harry took a seat at the table, straining under the weight of the feast laid out on it.

"Have you been _crawling_ through the garden?" she asked, looking on disapprovingly. He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Maybe we should move your bed out there," she said, tilting her head. With a simple wave of her wand, Harry's clothes were made presentable again.

"Are they here yet?" Harry asked.

Lily nodded.

"They're in the parlour. Invite them over."

"Right. Oh, there's something else." He placed the talisman on the table. "It stopped working for a minute. Just, poof, the light went out for no reason."

"I'll take a look at it later. Go get them."

Harry went inside, crossed the spacious hall and entered the parlour, where four men lounged in armchairs, talking and laughing. The commotion died down instantly when he walked in.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Allow me to extend a cordial invitation to-" he paused, not knowing how to finish. "Come on, dinner's ready."

The men shared a laugh at that and followed him out back. Once everyone was seated, Charlus Potter stood, a glass of bubbling champagne in his hand and smiled at Harry.

"Tomorrow, we send another Potter off to Hogwarts, to learn and grow - and enjoy what will be some of the best years of his life. Harry, my boy." Grandfather Charlus smiled at him, saluting with his glass. "I wish you all the best on this journey you're about to begin."

There was a smattering of applause and Harry found himself blushing, momentarily embarrassed at being the center of attention.

Harry returned grandfather's gesture with his own glass - apple juice - and lively dug into the food, heaping his plate with a bit of everything. He joked with his father, Remus and Sirius at grandfather's expense, and roared with laughter when Charlus Potter gave back as good as he got.

The meal stretched into the evening as the sun sunk behind the hills surrounding Godric's Hollow. Harry leaned back in his chair, almost dozing off. Mother ushered him inside.

"You want to be well-rested for tomorrow," she said. "The first day takes a lot out of you. Here," she added, returning his talisman. "The enchantment is in perfect working order."

Harry frowned, staring at the oval-shaped piece of metal lying on his hand.

"But I saw it go out."

"Probably accidental magic, then."

James came up to them, apparently done with seeing the guests off. Harry yawned.

"Yeah, must be. G'night."

Strangely, his sleepiness vanished when he put his head to the pillow. He propped himself up on his hands and closed his eyes, waiting to fall asleep.

Almost immediately, images bloomed under his eyelids, conjuring a vibrant scene, almost a perfect recreation of the earlier gathering. But it was cold, a biting wind blew foliage up onto the porch.

The scene changed further. Gone was the cheerful atmosphere, replaced by a solemn silence. Grandfather looked nothing like himself, tired and old in a way that had nothing to do with his age. Dad and Sirius glared at each other. Mum was hunched over the table, her back bent by an invisible burden and Remus- Remus-werewolf sat awkwardly in his chair, the position unnatural for the animalistic body.

Harry blinked the image away. With a heavy sigh, he glanced at his wand. He'd been having similar such visions ever since he left Ollivander's wand shop a little over a month ago. Sometimes they came in sleep as dreams, other times he would drift into one while wide awake. All of them were twisted somehow, like reflections in a distorting mirror. He had scoured the library, searching for answers in the few tomes Mum had pertaining to this sort of thing, but they were about divination. Harry didn't think he was divining - or hoped so.

He would be at Hogwarts tomorrow, where he could broaden his search. If there was anywhere he would find some sort of explanation, it had to be Hogwarts.

~~oOo~~

"Harry Potter!"

Harry blinked and shook his head hearing his name. He had been so concentrated on watching others get Sorted that he'd forgotten his turn would come up eventually.

"Come on, move," someone hissed into his ear, shoving him forward. Harry turned to face the stranger. It was a dark-skinned boy, not much taller than Harry.

"Tonight, if you would, Mister Potter," the boy whispered, looking at Harry intensely.

Harry paid him no more mind and walked up to the three-legged stool, where the Sorting Hat waited for him. The stool's legs were as thin as blades of grass. They seemed far too flimsy to hold up the Hat, much less a person.

Harry plopped the Hat onto his head and sat. He felt the stool sink an inch or two towards the floor, the paper-thin legs compressing like springs.

"Hmm..." the Hat purred. "You are an interesting one."

Harry cleared his throat.

"Am I?"

"Ambitions of a vague nature is something everyone has, from babe to old hermit. Goals, however..."

"What about them?"

"Rarely are they so clearly defined in one so young. I do wonder how much of it is a child's fantasy."

Fantasy?

 _Stupid Hat,_ Harry thought.

The Hat chuckled, the cloth trembling atop Harry's head.

"Unafraid, aren't you? Where shall I put you...No matter where you end up, you will do something interesting, but..."

As the silence stretched uncomfortably, Harry frowned. Should this be taking so long?

"But what?" he demanded.

"I'm glad you asked," said the Hat, as if it had been waiting for him to speak. "You may do well anywhere, but you could be great in Slytherin. It has a way of facilitating greatness."

Harry released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. A Potter in Slytherin? Dad would have a heart attack!

Then again, grandmother had been in Slytherin. Maybe it wasn't the worst idea... Greatness. He liked the sound of it.

"If you say so. I'd like to try my hand at greatness."

The Hat seemed to cackle with glee.

"Very well! Go, then, Harry Potter. Reach for your destiny in SLYTHERIN!"

Harry handed the Hat to the next firstie in line and walked over to the Slytherin table feeling the lingering reluctance. Perhaps it was the Sorting Hat's words, or the cool, faint applause his new housemates welcomed him with that boosted his resolve, but by the time he took his seat among the other newly Sorted Slytherins, he felt much better.

He made no particular effort to try to acquaint himself with any of them - Slytherins didn't seem keen on this kind of thing. Time would come for that, he supposed. Maybe they just didn't do it in front of the other Houses. Harry could tell there would be a learning curve to wearing green and silver.

Thus, he maintained a respectful distance between himself and the boy sitting nearest to him. The boy, Draco Malfoy, maintained this distance as well, but it didn't stop him from openly staring at Harry.

He tried counting to ten, but only got to six.

"What?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Malfoy tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Then he covertly pointed towards the staff table.

"Do you know him?" Malfoy asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow. What was he talking about? Did Harry know who, exactly? He slid his gaze down the length of the table. All the Professors were watching the Sorting-

Except one.

Harry could tell the man was tall - even sitting down, he towered above his colleagues, barring the Headmaster himself. His skin was deathly pale, hair the deepest black. The contrast gave him an otherworldly appearance. He seemed unreal, more like a painting or a statue than a real person.

And he was watching Harry. He didn't even try to hide it when their eyes met. The man smiled - it was a cold smile which did not reach the eyes - and raised his cup in a gesture of greeting. Harry almost panicked. Should he return the gesture, do something else?

He picked up his own cup and mirrored the man, bowing his head slightly, feeling a tiny bit silly, since the cup was empty. The man's smile grew and, if Harry could tell, it seemed more genuine this time. Their bizarre greeting complete, the man turned his gaze to the remaining first years.

"So? Do you know him?" Malfoy pressed.

"Huh?" Harry shook himself awake to his immediate surroundings. Malfoy was still staring at him with unwavering intensity. "No, I don't. Who is he?"

"Professor Riddle," Malfoy said, his voice coloured by what Harry thought was resentment. "Are you sure? You've never met him when your parents dragged you to some fancy social function?"

"My parents- why would you think they attend fancy social functions in the first place?"

Malfoy's grimace deepened, though Harry couldn't tell if he was pissed of if his face just worked that way.

"They're in Dumbledore's Order."

Harry considered it. He knew little of what exactly his parents did in their work for Albus Dumbledore. They would sometimes up and leave for days at a time and return looking happy or the exact opposite, and always exhausted. Knowing that grandfather Charlus was friends with Professor Dumbledore, Harry had often pestered him about this, but grandfather remained staunchly silent.

"You're too young to worry about such things," he would say.

Overall, Harry didn't think his parents attended high-class parties in their absences. They certainly never took him along to any.

"Yes, I'm sure. Never saw the man in my life."

"Well, he seems to know you," Malfoy said.

Harry looked towards Professor Riddle again, but he seemed entirely absorbed by the Sorting. The last student - the dark-skinned boy from earlier, Blaise Zabini - joined him and Malfoy at the Slytherin table.

"Scoot over, Potter," he said.

"Be my absolute pleasure, Zabini," Harry shot back.

Zabini grinned at him. Harry rolled his eyes. Were all Slytherins this weird?

Then he realised he was being the weirdest of them all. _He_ was a Slytherin too.

He regarded the last two boys who had joined Slytherin this year. They resembled boulders clad in Hogwarts robes. Their uninspired expressions held little promise.

What a peculiar bunch, Harry thought.

The Sorting Ceremony done with, the Headmaster rose from his gilded chair and walked up to the lectern that had magically replaced the Hat and its three-legged stool.

"Welcome," said Albus Dumbledore, "to another year at Hogwarts."

There was a pause. Harry took those words to heart. There was something enjoyable about letting the greeting sink in. He was at Hogwarts, after years of hearing about it from two generations of Potters.

"Before we all dig in, I have several announcements to make. Firstly, the new students should know that the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, quite forbidden. Secondly, all students are reminded that the list of banned items is available for perusal in Mister Filch's office-"

"Who's Filch?" Harry asked, leaning towards Zabini.

Zabini shrugged.

"No idea."

"He's a squib who's supposed to take care of the castle," Malfoy offered an explanation, his voice dripping with disdain. "That's Dumbledore - hiring squibs and all sorts of freaks."

Harry bristled. Not that he was particularly sensitive, but some things got a rise out of him. Remus was one of the nicest people he knew.

"Maybe save your explanations for yourself, if you're going to be an arse about it," Harry retorted.

Malfoy glared at him.

"What, are you another half-breed lover?"

Harry pointedly ignored him this time. Clearly, this wasn't a discussion to be had during the feast.

He tuned out the Great Hall's noises, including the Headmaster's speech, to admire the Hall itself. The warm glow of thousands of floating candles, the view of the star-studded sky on the ceiling - an enchanting picture. Harry couldn't imagine becoming as indifferent to it as most students seemed.

"-is off-limits," the Headmaster said. "And now, tuck in!"

At the clap of his hands, the tables were stacked high with every kind of food Harry could imagine. He cast a long look at it, from left to right, catching sight of his favorite dishes. Whatever he looked for, he seemed to find it with little trouble. But this couldn't be possible - the kitchen can't have prepared every single thing he happened to like, could it?

"It's better when you put it in your mouth instead of just staring," Zabini said, winking at him.

Harry flashed him a grin and heaped his plate with what was within reach. All of it looked too good not to try it.

"Wait, what was that last thing he said? Something off-limits?" Harry asked.

"Part of the third floor," Zabini replied. "They're converting the eastern wing of it into dueling facilities. Hogwarts is getting back into the game."

Harry perked up at that. Dueling! Dad sometimes got to complaining how he regretted that Hogwarts had fallen out of the dueling circuits in the forties.

Zabini poked him in the ribs.

"What, already thinking about trying out next year?"

Harry tried his best to look elegantly disinterested.

"Oh, maybe..."

Harry kept the conversation afloat. Zabini seemed the most inclined to talk. Malfoy had, it seemed, already been soured on Harry's company and had taken to muttering insults addressed to Dumbledore. The boulders had began nodding at whatever Malfoy said. Harry pitied them. Even they could probably do better if they tried. Malfoy was the lowest-hanging fruit.

The newly christened Slytherin girls sat opposite the boys, all of them assuming variations on the same superior expression and nonchalant pose. Attempts to engage them were met with silent rebuttal.

By the time the desserts arrived, Harry had fallen into a state of bliss, lulled by the food and the relaxed atmosphere. Well, as relaxed as one could be sitting next to Malfoy.

"Malfoy, I can already tell you'll be my favorite person in our year," Harry said.

Malfoy turned to him, taken out of the string of insults he had been meticulously chaining together.

"You said something, Potter?"

"Yeah. Shut up, for Merlin's sake."

Zabini snorted into his pumpkin juice, sloshing half of the cup's contents over his robes.

"Damn you, Potter," he said, glaring even as he smiled. It produced a one-of-a-kind expression.

The feast winded down. Harry didn't feel like getting up, content to just rest his head on the table, next to the coconut cake, and sleep there. Zabini pulled him up by the elbow.

"Come on, Potter, we're falling behind. Do you want to get lost in the terrible, dark dungeons of Hogwarts?"

Harry hurried up along Blaise.

"So what, are we friends now?" he asked half-jokingly.

Blaise assumed a blank expression and straightened as they trailed after the other newly minted Slytherins.

"I don't know, Potter. I believe 'friend' is a word that gets thrown around too often, much too casually. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say we're acquaintances."

Harry stared at him, noting the barely suppressed humour peeking through the cracks with each word. Blaise maintained his mask for a few more seconds of their staring match and then barked with laughter, throwing his head back.

One of their prefect guides whipped her head around, piercing Blaise with a disapproving look. Blaise made a face at her.

"Alright, you got me," Blaise said. "Yeah, fine, we can be friends. But I reserve the right to dump you if you turn out to be unworthy."

Their chatting encouraged the other first years, though the prefect kept telling them to keep it down, until her colleague snapped, "Give it a rest, not like they're offending the sanctity of the dungeons or something."

"Hear, hear!" Blaise crowed.

Now the male prefect turned around to glare at him.

"Don't push it."

They reached the Slytherin dormitories without much more fuss. Harry lingered behind, trying to catch a closer look at the entrance as it sealed behind them - the enchantment looked remarkably similar to the Diagon entryway in the Leaky Cauldron - but Blaise pulled him away from it. With a last glance, Harry found that he couldn't follow how the stones seemed to fold out over each other, as if the magic involved was deliberately obstructing observation.

"It's just a few bricks, new friend," Blaise whispered. "You can study them later."

One of the boulder-like boys - who had gravitated towards Malfoy - shoved Blaise and put a finger up to his lips. Blaise, who matched him for height, stepped on his foot. Boulder screwed up his face, as if considering where to punch, when suddenly there was a blast of magic and Blaise and Boulder were thrown apart, landing on their backs.

The female prefect pocketed her wand, looking very pleased with herself.

"Now that I have your attention... The doors behind me lead to first-year dorms. The one on your right is the girls', the left is the boys'."

She turned on her heels and marched off. Her colleague picked up the speech.

"Any problems you have with each other don't get out of the dorms. Outside, we're Slytherins - united. Try not to make fools of yourselves. And don't lose us points. If you cost us the House Cup, Snape will have your hides."

He turned to leave as well, but Blaise called after him, "What, that's it? You're not going to tell us your name and that we can always come to you if we need help?"

The prefect gave an incredulous look.

"No," he said curtly. "Figure it out."

"So much for a warm welcome," Blaise said.

"Were you expecting one?" Harry asked.

Blaise grinned at him.

"No."

The group split in two and Harry soon found that the boys' dormitories were two rooms, each with three beds. They indentified their placements by the trunks. Harry was relieved to see that he would be rooming with Blaise. On the other hand, their third was Malfoy. The blond stepped inside carefully, as if he were entering an old ruin, about to collapse.

"Why the sour face, Mister Malfoy? Are you not thrilled to be with us, instead of Grub and Coyle? Or was it Crab and Doyle?" Blaise asked. He turned to Harry, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Drab and Boil?"

Malfoy's lip twitched in restrained contempt.

"Just don't get in my way," he said and pointedly dragged his trunk away towards the lone bed tucked away in a far corner of the room.

"Boo-hoo."

'Arsehole' Blaise mouthed at Harry silently, pointing at Malfoy over his shoulder.

The stone walls gave off a chill that had rendered Harry awake and alert again, the post-feast sleepiness temporarily averted. He inspected the bathroom while Malfoy was violently shoving the contents of his trunk into a wardrobe.

The bathroom was spacious, with a black-and-white tiled checkered floor. Harry's gaze slid upwards over the sink. He approached the giant mirror. It hung slightly askew. Harry tilted his head to match the mirror's frame.

"Potter, what are you-"

Blaise stopped mid-sentence, walked up to stand beside Harry and tilted his head to the left, like Harry had.

"Am I doing it right? Because all I see is my reflection," he said in a theatrical whisper.

"Help me correct it," said Harry.

They struggled with it for a good minute - the mirror was uncommonly heavy - but Blaise eagerly followed Harry's directions. Once Harry was satisfied, they stepped back to admire their work.

"Do unevenly hanging things bother you? Not that I care, my family's had plenty of weird people..."

"No, it's just..." Harry paused, not really knowing what to say just then. Why _did_ it bother him? "...a mirror."

For a single, flickering moment, Harry thought he saw something in the silver surface. A tall castle with a thousand spike-like towers and turrets, its foundations shrouded in a mist, a huge, greenish moon looming behind it. Perilously perched on a cliff, it oversaw a great expanse of water, completely still, except for where a group of small boats cut through it, each decorated with a glaring skull at the bow...

Harry shook his head.

"You looked spooked for a moment there," Blaise said quietly. For the first time, his tone was devoid of humour.

"It's nothing," Harry assured him.

 _Just imagination._


	5. Images in Reflections, Chapter Two

**Images in Reflections**

 **Chapter Two: The Climb**

Harry threw himself into the whirlwind of classes, people and magic, the vision of Hogwarts in the bathroom mirror not forgotten, but relegated to a faint memory in the back of his mind. There was simply no time for it in a day, not when there were so many other things to do.

Blaise didn't like wasting time, as he informed Harry their first morning in Hogwarts.

"You only have this one life," he said, a serene look on his face.

"You don't know that," Harry countered, jabbing at him with a sausage.

"Well, we're not going to become immortal by lazing around, are we?"

Harry didn't know how Blaise managed it, but he always went to sleep last and was dressed and ready by the time Harry woke up.

"Sleep is such a waste of time," Blaise lamented at the ceiling as they walked to the Great Hall. It was his morning ritual.

Harry questioned the necessity of staying up so late on weekends, but Blaise insisted it was the best time to explore the castle. Harry joined Blaise reluctantly at first, but his enthusiasm was enkindled when they found their first secret passage.

It wasn't much - just a simple shortcut that allowed them to get from the dorms to the Entrance Hall faster - but, as Blaise put it, 'it was the beginning of something greater'.

Harry gave it a fair bit of thought. Perhaps the Hat was right about Slytherin and greatness.

Whatever reservations he had were blown away once they used the passage to scare the living daylights out of Malfoy. Blaise's laughter was infectious.

Thus, a week into October, Harry found himself breaking the curfew again.

He crept along the wall behind Blaise, who made a point of stopping by every painting and suit of armour they encountered, looking for more secret passages. It was slow work, but they did it gladly. Thirst for mystery prevailed even weeks after their first discovery.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" a portly wizard screeched at them from his portrait, looking quite outraged at Blaise poking the frame with his wand.

Blaise jumped back - the portrait had bent down and screamed right into his ear. Harry hurried to diffuse the brewing disaster. If Filch caught them again, they would never get rid of the cat smell.

"Apologies, my good sir," Harry whispered. "We are but humble students, seeking to learn from-" He paused and squinted at the plaque nailed to the bottom of the frame. "-the great Caramellius Dounnat. Err, my lord."

The impromptu flattery seemed to have the desired effect. Blaise gave him a thumbs up when Caramellius turned away briefly as he began to educate them on the inherently violent nature of culinary charms. He took to wiping the chalkboard for use in his lecture, giving them an opportunity to slip away. They heard his confused and subsequently angry yelling as they rounded the corner.

"Phew," said Blaise quietly. "That was a close one. Good work, Potter."

"Thanks, Blaise," Harry replied. "Will you stop calling me Potter?"

"Nah."

They continued on, now much more careful about approaching the paintings. A good hour later, they had reached the end of the long, zigzagging hallway. Blaise pulled out a rudimentary map he had drawn of the first floor and marked the hallway off.

"Alright, this one's done - for now."

They weren't excluding the possibility that whatever secrets were hidden there were simply beyond their skill to find yet. Neither of them was modest, but they weren't stupid about it, like Malfoy.

"Why the long face, Potter?"

Harry frowned.

"You know why. I don't know that just combing the castle, hallway after hallway, room after room is the best way to uncover its mysteries. We found the passage in the dungeons completely by accident. In fact, we specifically _weren't_ looking for it. We were just on our way to the Great Hall."

"That was luck," said Blaise. "It doesn't constitute a rule. If that was the case, why doesn't everyone who's not looking for secrets find them all the time?"

"Maybe it just applies to Hogwarts' secrets," Harry speculated, but he had to admit, even he wasn't convinced by this argument.

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Nonsense. But maybe that's enough for tonight."

He leaned against the wall, but his arm sunk into the stone and then all of Blaise fell through it, the wall rippling like disturbed water. Harry stood there for a moment, mouth hanging open, before Blaise's arm shot out of the wall, fingers clawing blindly at the air before finding his robes. Harry was pulled forward, through the wall-not-wall.

Harry found himself nose to nose with Blaise.

"Not... a... word, _Potter."_

Blaise then took to scouting their surroundings. Harry couldn't help grinning.

"I guess-"

Blaise spun around, pointing a finger between Harry's eyes.

"Not a word!"

Harry stifled the laugh that escaped him.

They stood at the bottom of a tall, rectangular shaft, with a narrow staircase winding up, though perhaps staircase wasn't the best word. Some of the stones looked to have been pulled out from the wall, forming the perilous walkway, climbing the shaft.

"Interesting," said Blaise. "Any idea what this might be?"

"No," Harry said. "But I reckon it must lead somewhere."

"It's awfully dark up there, though," Blaise said. "What little light there is must be coming in from the hallway. Maybe we could grab a torch from-"

His hand stopped on the wall they had fallen through. The wall didn't ripple like it had before. Eyes going wide, Harry leaned on the wall too. They put their combined weight on it, but the stones were as solid as they looked. They were trapped.

"Guess we're climbing," said Blaise. "How's your Light Charm?"

"It's a work in progress," Harry admitted. Neither of them have been able to produce strong enough light to be useful. "But never fear. I've got something much better."

Harry reached into his pocket for the talisman, willing it to shine. The piece of metal on his palm chased away the shadows, illuminating their path. Harry took out his wand.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

The talisman rose gently into the air, floating a few feet above their heads, rising higher when Harry climbed up onto the first step.

"I'm rather handy with the Levitation Charm."

Blaise nodded in appreciation.

"Do you have anything that could open that wall?"

 _"Alohomora!"_

The spell prompted the stones to grind against each other, but nothing more. The wall remained solid.

"Worth a try," said Blaise. "After you."

Several spirals of the stairs later, they were both sweaty, standing on trembling legs.

"This," said Blaise in between gasps of air, "didn't look as hard from below."

Harry grunted his agreement, too winded to say anything. Clenching his wand, he looked down - they had made it maybe fifty feet from the floor - and then up. The shaft had no end in sight.

The talisman wobbled, threatening to fall. Blinking, Harry reasserted his hold on the spell.

"Don't you dare let that fall," Blaise said. "We can't climb without the light."

"I got it," Harry ground out. His back pressed against the wall, he made the next step.

They climbed the next few spirals in silence disturbed only by their heavy breathing.

"Maybe we should call it quits, go back down," Blaise said. "Someone's bound to come looking for us eventually."

"Doesn't mean they'll find us," Harry replied. "Shut up and keep going."

They further away from the floor they moved, the more it drew their eyes down. Harry couldn't estimate how far up they were - the talisman's light only reached so far and he wasn't going to blind them by brightening it up. It was the white-hot center of their universe, both of them orbiting around it as they climbed.

Harry reached the next corner and let his feet slip out from under him, sitting - perching, really - on the protruding stones. Blaise, a few steps down from him, sat in the lower corner.

"How long have we been in here, do you think?" Blaise asked.

"Dunno," Harry replied, spitting down the shaft. "Don't care."

They sat, not speaking, gathering their strength for the next leg of the journey. Harry had lost track of time. Neither of them had a watch and the shaft had no windows or opening of any kind.

Harry counted seconds, which turned into minutes and at some point he stopped counting. He levitated the talisman closer and placed it on the stone next to where he sat, dulling the light. He could do with a little rest. He was so tired...

He woke up suddenly, eyes flying open as he involuntarily leaned forward. Panic rising, he clawed at the wall, his fingers slipping on the stone. He found the grip, pulling himself back to the wall, his heart pounding.

"Too close," he whispered. "Blaise, we should keep going."

Blaise was still asleep and now he was slipping from his seat.

"Blaise!" Harry yelled, frozen in place.

"BLAISE!"

With a grunt, Blaise stirred awake as he slipped from the stone. He swiped wildly, grabbing the edge.

 _"Merlin's arse!"_

Harry pocketed his wand and brightened the talisman again.

"Hold on, I'm coming over!"

"That's what I'm bloody well doing!"

Moviing faster than Harry thought was possible in their predicament, he climbed to where Blaise was hanging.

"Blaise, listen to me. I can't pull you up-"

"What?" Blaise yelled, spitting. "You can't just-"

"Shut up and listen! You'll grab my hand, I'll lower you and you'll stand on the steps below, got it?"

Blaise swallowed, nodding. Harry carefully lowered himself to a sitting position and blocked his feet against the stones.

"Alright, take my hand."

Several nerve-wracking seconds later, Blaise glued himself to the wall below Harry.

"Are you okay?"

"No I'm bloody well _not!"_ Blaise said. "We have to get out of here."

Harry looked up. Beyond the talisman' light, there was only darkness.

"Hold on, I want to try something."

Levitating the talisman again, he sent it up higher than before. This damn shaft had to end at some point.

The talisman flew higher, picking up speed until the spell was almost out of Harry's control.

And then there was a _thunk_ of metal on wood. The sound reverberated in the shaft.

"Potter," Blaise said, "that may have been the most beautiful sound I've ever heard."

Harry squinted at the distant light of the talisman, at this point merely a bright point high up, but he couldn't make out what was there.

"Is it far?"

Harry shook his head.

"I can't tell exactly, but I don't think so. I'll bet we've climbed higher than that to get here."

Harry let the talisman fall back towards them. Bolstered by the discovery, they made their way up, their legs numb but taking them still higher, their robes torn on the porous stone, themselves sticky with sweat under their clothes.

With each step, the view above them cleared, revealing the top of the shaft. A ceiling of planks and in the middle, a trapdoor. Harry grasped the talisman in his hand and pointed the wand up.

 _"Alohomora."_

The trapdoor flew open, letting in sunlight. Harry blinked furiously, his eyes burning as they adjusted after hours in dim lighting.

A rope ladder folded out from the trapdoor, extending thirty feet down. Harry swallowed. They'd have to jump for it.

"Can you reach it?"

"Just about," Blaise replied.

"You want to go first?"

"No, you do the honours, Potter."

Harry pocketed the talisman and his wand and flexed his fingers. His arms and legs were tired, but they were almost out... He could do this.

He leaned forward, pushing away at the last moment, arms held out in front. He linked them through the rope, hanging on for dear life as the ladder swayed him back and forth.

With the last burst of effort, he climbed up and through the trapdoor, onto the blisfully flat top of one of the tall, slim turrets shooting up from the monolith of Hogwarts.

Harry crawled over to the battlements, looking down. From this high up, the courtyard seemed like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

Blaise emerged from the trapdoor and sat down next to Harry.

"Wow," Blaise whispered, pointing east. "Look at this."

The golden shield of the sun was emerging from behind the mountains, coating them in a cloudy, late summer morning.

"Not something you see every day, eh?"

They closed the trapdoor and sat close, pulling their robes tight. With no cover from the wind, they were cold within minutes.

"Potter... How are we going to get _down?"_

~~oOo~~

They left Snape's office sour at the perspective of a week's worth of detentions, but at the same time happy to be alive.

Blaise jammed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall, looking down.

"You know what I regret most, Potter?"

"What?"

"Now the secret we discovered isn't a secret anymore."

"That's assuming we were the only ones who knew about it in the first place," Harry pointed out. "And it wasn't even that good of a secret. _And_ it doesn't count. We stumbled into it. Literally."

Blaise smiled at that.

"I suppose there's always a silver lining." He clapped Harry on the back. "Now we just have to deal with those letters Snape's sending to our parents."

Harry swallowed the dread rising to choke him.

"Yeah... that."

"Don't worry, my friend. If it comes to it, I'll protect you from your Gryfffindor parents. Though I can't say the same for the others. Slytherin loyalty means we're free to abandon each other too."

"Anyway," Blaise continued, "it's a good thing you know the Fire Charm already. How'd you manage to get to flames to spell out S.O.S.?"

Harry shrugged.

"I didn't."

"And your pocket light, or whatever that is." Blaise move to stand face to face with Harry, holding him at arm's length. "I owe you my _life,_ dear friend."

Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled as he did it.

News carried astonishingly fast in Hogwarts and by the time they had reached the common room, everyone knew about their adventure. Older Slytherins were coldly stoic about the whole affair, but the younger years and their peers offered congratulations, cracked jokes, someone said 'well done, you two'.

Malfoy was the notable exception.

"The conquering heroes return," he muttered at them from the sofa, where he sat with _A Thousand Magical Herbs And Fungi_ in his lap.

"Jealousy is a terrible look on you, Malfoy," Harry quipped. "If you wanted to join us, you should have said something. But, I understand. I can see you're trying so very hard to overcome your shyness."

"And your numerous other shortcomings," Blaise added. "The only thing you've conquered is a cauldron."

Harry rushed to the dorm ahead of Blaise and claimed the bathroom first. He peeled off the filthy robes, finding the talisman in a pocket. He ran a thumb over the runic markings.

"This little thing... saved my life," he said to his reflection.

On a whim, he willed it to shine, but it didn't. Just like in the garden back home, it refused to light up, as if its magic was broken.

With a frown, Harry urged it again, but the talisman remained a dead piece of metal on his palm. He glanced up at the mirror and dropped the talisman, taken aback.

He was looking at himself, but not. The boy in the mirror wore his face, but that was the only thing they had in common. The reflection glared at him, vicious, bloodthirsty, with an ugly, jagged scar on his forehead.

Harry picked up the talisman. The reflection did the same. The talisman in the mirror didn't shine either. Instead, it seemed to _consume_ whatever light it could, sucking it in until the bathroom Harry was standing in, _the real one,_ began growing darker along with its reflected image.

Harry scrambled for his wand, pointing at the boy in the mirror.

 _"Incendio!"_

The glass crackled and broke, attacked by the flames, paint began peeling off from the frame...

Harry ended the spell. The mirror was covered in a web of tiny cracks, pieces the glass was covered in soot and there was furious knocking at the door, but the image was gone. Harry could only see himself, fragmented into a thousand pieces. The talisman felt hot against his hand, but it was still just as dead, just as lightless as it was a moment ago.

"Harry, open the damn door!" Blaise's muffled voice came from outside.

Harry did and Blaise stormed in, taking in the scene of destruction. He regarded the ruined mirror and gave Harry a hard stare.

"You'll tell me what the hell this is or I'll drag you to Snape."

Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat, considering the threat. Could he trust Blaise with this? They had barely known each other a month. If not, who else was he going to tell, if he hadn't even told his parents?

Harry decided to call the bluff.

"You wouldn't."

Blaise flexed his hands repeatedly.

"You're right, I wouldn't. Not Snape. But I _will_ go to Professor Riddle."

"Or we could just pretend nothing happened."

Blaise pointed to the mirror.

"Sorry Potter, but if you're possessed by a demon, I must know, for my own safety."

Harry snorted.

"I'm not possessed by anything."

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest.

"I would be more inclined to belive you if you tell me."

Harry weighed his options.

"Fine. But not a word to Malfoy."

~~oOo~~

"And you've been having those visions since you got the wand?"

Harry noded.

"Yes. One day everything was fine, then bam - out of nowhere."

Blaise was pacing in a circle while Harry cross-legged on the floor, his back against the bed. Suddenly Blaise stopped, fixing Harry with an intense stare.

"Well, _I_ think-" He paused, pointing at Harry. "No, I have no idea. We shall have to consult someone."

"I'm not really comfortable telling this to anyone else. I'm not entirely okay with telling you," Harry said. "No offence."

"Fear not. The witch I have in mind is known for her expertise when it comes to matters arcane and more importantly, she's very discreet."

"Alright, I'll bite. Who is it?"

"Cassandra Trelawney."

Harry frowned.

"The only Cassandra Trelawney I know of was a Seer in the nineteenth century."

"That's the one," said Blaise, seemingly serious.

"She's dead," Harry pointed out.

"According to her daughter. They never found the body."

"Her daughter, who is also dead," Harry argued.

"I question your use of the word 'also' in that sentence-"

"Blaise," Harry interrupted. "I'm not making this up. This is serious."

"Of course it is. Getting to the bottom of this is in my best interest. What if one night you're driven insane by your visions and decide to slaughter all of Slytherin? Malfoy and I would be the first to die."

Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten.

 _Breathe in, breathe out. In, out._

"I should never have told you," he groaned. "If you're just going to make fun of-"

"Potter," Blaise snapped. "Cassandra Trelawney wrote books."

"Yes, weird, undecipherable ramblings no one could ever make sense of."

"Your visions don't make much sense either. Doesn't hurt to try."

Harry let Blaise have the last word. He wasn't in the mood to argue futher and Blaise was right - it couldn't hurt to try. He had been planning to look for answers in the library himself, but he had been completely absorbed in classes and exploring the castle, the visions forgotten for weeks. And in truth, he wasn't keen on the gargantuan task of combing the library on his own. At least now he would have company.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

~~oOo~~

"This was such a bad idea," Harry mumbled, hunched over a tiny book the size of his hand. He had been trying to read the print under the magnifying glass. At first he had thought this copy had simply been shrunk, for whatever reason, but it turned out that it had actually been printed like this. _Trelawney's Guide to the Unforseeable, A Pocket Edition._

"You saaayyd something?" Blaise muttered from the other side of the table, failing to stifle a yawn. Harry wondered how it had been since Blaise had stopped reading in lieu of absently flipping the pages.

"This is useless," Harry declared, pushing the _Pocket Edition_ away. "We're never going to find anything this way. I'm not some bookworm, like that Granger girl."

Blaise blinked and stared at his book with disdain, as if he'd suddenly realised what he'd been doing.

"Agreed. Our time is much to valuable to waste it like this."

"What's the time, anyway?"

Blaise regarded their table, piled with more books and regardem with suspicion.

"I can't believe this was _my_ idea."

Harry looked around, searching for a clock as he gathered his things.

"Isn't flying class today?" he asked anxiously.

"We should pay someone to do this," Blaise said. "There must be some loser in Ravenclaw who'll dig through books for a few Sickles..."

Harry located a clock. They had less than ten minutes and flying lessons took place out on the grounds.

"Blaise!"

Blaise shook his head, disoriented.

"What?"

"We'll be late for flying!"

Blaise livened up at that, packing up his bag with one sweep of his arm and was rushing out of the library ahead of Harry.

"Hurry it up, Potter!"

Unfortunately, their continued exploration had yielded no new secret passages, so they had to take the usual route from the library to the Entrance Hall. They rushed past older students and occasionally slowing down when they spotted someone from the staff, breaking into a run again once they were out of sight. They arrived several minutes late, struggling to catch a breath, while Madam Hooch berated them.

"We're alredy past the initial exercises! This is the last time I hold up the class for marauders!"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry blurted out. "We lost track f time in the library. Won't happen again."

"If it does, you won't be in my class anymore," Hooch warned.

Neither of them had trouble summoning the broom. Harry instanty felt confident with it in his hand. The school brooms couldn't hold a candle to his Nimbus Two-Thousand back home, but a broom was a broom.

They swiftly performed the exercises Hooch demanded, demonstrating the grip and position on the broom and the class resumed for everyone.

"Now, I want you to rise a few feet, then _gently_ point the tip of the broom downwards and land," said Hooch. "One, two, three..."

She blew the whistle and Harry pushed off with slightly bent knees. Next to him, Blaise's broom wobbled a bit, but he floated up well enough. To Harry's annoyance, Malfoy was as confident on the broom as Harry himself. It seemed his bragging wasn't exaggerated after all.

Most of the students were much less stable in the air. Several didn't rise at all, among them Granger and Longbottom, two Gryffindors who had become the targets of jokes among the first years. Harry couldn't say he pitied them. Their greatest tormentor was Malfoy. Blaise insisted that if they couldn't stand up to the ponce on their own, they weren't worth the time. Harry was inclined to agree, though he was sure his parents wouldn't.

"Come on, you lot, it's not that hard," Hooch said, sweeping over to the holdouts. "Get up on your brooms. And the rest of you, down! What are you still doing up there?"

She blew the whistle again and Harry cringed at the ear-piercing noise.

Blaise nudged him, leaning in.

"Look at Granger."

She was pale as marble and Harry saw she was sweating too.

"Maybe she's scared of heights," he muttered back.

Blaise snorted.

"A witch, scared of heights? Ridiculous."

"She's a muggleborn, mate."

"Then maybe she shouldn't be here."

"What?" Harry snapped, his head whipping about to face Blaise. "I'm not going to listen to shite like that."

"I don't have anything against muggleborns," Blaise retorted. "Just against mediocrity."

"I don't know who you're calling mediocre. She's the top of our class in almost every subject."

"She writes great essays and can turn a beetle into button, yes, yes," Blaise said, a look of disdain on his face. "Books aren't everything, Potter. Sooner or later she will have to be a real witch."

 _A real witch? What's that supposed to mean?_ Harry thought. He sighed heavily. This side of Blaise would take a lot of getting used to.

 _Maybe I can can change his mind._

Meanwhile, Granger floated up, her broom trembling like the engine of Sirius' bike. Harry held his breath, seeing the disaster coming a moment before it happened.

The broom shot upwards, Granger holding on for dear life, shrieking as she was carried higher and higher.

"Miss Granger, get back down now!"

The broom buckled under Granger and the girl lost her grip. Harry blinked and Granger was plummeting towards a broken neck.

Hooch raised her wand and just before impact, Granger slowed down and was gently deposited on the ground.

"That was just pathetic," Blaise said with a sneer.

"At last, something we can agree on," said Malfoy.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry and Blaise said in unison.

"No asked you," Harry added.

"That's enough, Potter, Zabini," said Hooch. "One more word from either of you and you'll be explaining yourselves to Professor Snape."

Malfoy gave them an ugly smile when Hooch turned away. Blaise responded in kind, drawing a thumb over his throat, as if he were cutting it with a knife. Malfoy's smirk disappeared instantly.

The rest of the class went by without more surprises. Granger was sent away to Madam Pomfrey, escorted by marginally less distressed Longbottom. Afterwards, Harry and Blaise fell back behind their classmates on the way to dinner.

"I wasn't going to say anything-" Harry began.

"Then don't."

"-but that was uncalled for."

Blaise gave a nonchalant wave.

"She'll get over it."

"You're a good friend, but you're a shitty person sometimes," Harry pressed.

"What are you, a champion for the downtrodden?" Blaise challenged, looking down from his height advantage of four inches. "Come on, I'm hungry."

Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but decided against it this time. This wasn't a battle he would win - not today - and not one worth losing a friend over. Especially when he had no other friends.

 _Maybe I should do something about that..._


	6. Hogwarts School of Danger and Disasters

**AN:** Alternative take on Hogwarts and my opinion on the Health/Safety tropes.

 **Hogwarts School of Danger and Disasters**

 **Year One**

The Welcoming Feast wound down and Harry gave into the pleasant warmth spreading through him. His eyelids weighed heavy and he slumped down onto the table, content to fall asleep right then and there...

A splash of ice-cold water hitting him in the face brought him to alertness immediately.

"Wait until we're in the dorms," someone said, their tone laced with a warning. "Trust me, you don't want to fall asleep in here."

Harry looked up at the splasher. He was tall and red-haired and for some reason, Harry was _sure_ he was related to that guy Ron from the train.

"Percy Weasley, prefect," the boy said. "Nice to make your acquaintance. Help me with the others."

Harry stood and wrung out his shirt as best he could, softly cursing Percy as he splashed another first-year. Around him, older students were leading the exodus from the Great Hall while several others - presumably more prefects - stayed behind to awaken the first-years. Harry noticed that none of the other students laughed, pointed or otherwise made fun of his yearmates. Most prefects just used water like Percy, but one of them, wearing a blue Ravenclaw tie, seemed to draw particular amusement from berating the first-years as he woke them.

Harry looked down at the pudgy boy who had sat down next to him - Neville-something - grabbed the nearest empty cup, filled it with water and unceremoniously dumped it on the fellow Gryffindor.

Neville awoke suddenly, arms flailing and fell back from the bench. Harry then raised the cup over a girl who'd dozed off next to Neville and hesitated. Maybe he should just shake her or something? She seemed quite confrontational on the train, when she asked about Neville's toad. Harry wasn't in the mood to deal with her ire.

"Hey, wake up," he said, poking her in the shoulder. He poked again - nothing. He seized her arm and shook vigorously, but to no avail.

Percy came over and chucked a cup-full of water at her face, staring at Harry critically.

"That never works," he said. "Alright you lot, form up and keep together!"

Prefect Percy led them out of the Great Hall and up the gargantuan staircase. Harry thought the decor was off-putting. Statues of gargoyles clung to the walls and ceiling, blue-flame torches flickered constantly and mysterious stains dotted every surface. Altogether, the effect was overly demonic.

"Try to remember the way if you can, but don't despair if you don't. You _will_ be late to class for the first few days. The castle will see to that."

Harry rushed past several other first-years and caught up to Percy. He had to practically jog to keep up with the long-legged prefect.

"Hey, Percy - is it okay if I call you Percy? - why did all the first-years fall asleep after the Feast?"

Percy continued looking straight ahead as he led them up, up, up the stairs. "Oh, it's just Hogwarts. She always tries to trap the new students. Don't worry, no one's died in two hundred years."

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"Died?" someone shrieked from the back of the group. "What do you mean _died?"_

Percy sighed as if he was being bothered about where the bathroom was. "The castle poisons the food and tries to make the students stay in the Great Hall for the night. It's only happened once since the last Triwizard Tournament. A girl was left behind."

"And what?" Harry insisted. _And what's a Triwizard Tournament?_

"And the Great Hall ate her," said Percy, exasperated. "Hold on." He stopped so abruptly that Harry bumped into him. Percy shot him a glare. "Honestly, have none of you read _Hogwarts: A History?"_

One hand shot up. "I did, but... I assumed it was a joke. I mean, it must be."

"Just read the book. Now keep moving, it's not safe out in the hall at night."

Following several encounters with hostile portraits - one of which tried to curse them - and a wild ride on moving staircases, they finally reached their destination.

"This is the Foul Lady," said Percy, pointing. "She guards the entrance to Gryffindor Tower."

The girl from before raised her hand again. "So the gargoyles can't get in?"

"No, the other way around," Percy said. "She guards against people."

Harry blinked. Then he blinked again. What kind of demented school was this?

"The witch in the portrait was a necromancer," Percy continued. "And somehow she managed to transfer a bit of her magic into the painting. To enter, you have to wake her up. She will try to ensnare you."

"Ensnare me? Ensnare how?

"By pulling you into the painting," Percy explained, in a tone suggesting it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So what do we do?"

"Oh, just hit her with whatever spell, it'll disperse her power long enough for you to get inside."

Harry felt compelled to point out the major flaw inherent in this piece of advice. "But what if we don't know any spells yet?"

Percy shrugged. "Wait for someone who does."

"What if I'm the last person who returns to the Tower?"

Percy fixed him with a heated glare. Harry glared back. "Then I guess you're out of luck," Percy said at last.

 _What a prick,_ Harry thought.

Percy knocked on the painting's frame. The nightmarish forest within stirred and a witch in frayed robes whizzed forward from between the twisted trees, gliding across the ground at great speed. Her skin was grey and peeling and the smile she gave him was all rotten teeth and deathly blue lips - he could almost _smell_ the stench of her breath.

"Come to me, my sweet," she sang in a surprisingly melodious voice. Harry took a step closer. The Lady extended a hand, fingers tipped with sharp, black claws and gestured for him to approach.

"I can give you pleasures you can't imagine..." she cooed.

 _Well,_ Harry thought, _I do like pleasures…_

Imagining heaps of his favourite snacks and an empty theatre waiting to bedazzle him with every movie he had wanted to see but never could, he took a step forward, eager to embrace an eternity of pleasures by his Lady's side… He took the next step and slammed his nose against the canvas, snapping out of the trance. The Foul Lady retreated into the forest with an ear-piercing howl. Percy lowered his wand.

"And this is how it works. Don't wait for her to come out, just awaken the painting..." He knocked on the frame to demonstrate. The trees parted again and the Foul Lady flew out... "And hit it with a spell. _Stupefy!"_

The painting froze as if time had stopped, though Harry was sure the Foul Lady's eyes were still moving.

The frame then moved, revealing a door hidden behind the painting.

"This is the Common Room," said Percy, swiping his arm in a wide arc. "And those stairs lead to the dorms. Your names will be listed on the doors. G'night."

With that, he went up the stairs himself.

"That's it?" Harry called after him.

"Read the bloody book!"

They stood there, unsure of what to do next. Neville-whatshisname, clearly exhausted by their trek up to the seventh floor, sank into a comfy-looking armchair. Harry was about to do the same but then noticed that Neville was literally sinking into the armchair.

"Hey! Hey, you, get out of the chair!" he urged. A stifled noise escaped Neville, but the upholstery had already started enveloping him.

"Someone help me pull him out!" Harry called. Ron hurried over and they grabbed Neville by the arms. "Pull, damn it!" After several moments of heart-pounding horror, where Harry thought Neville was going to be devoured for sure, the armchair released him with a loud squelch.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked, eyes wide. The other first-years had huddled together at the opposite end of the room, nervously eyeing the rest of the furniture. "I always thought my brothers were just trying to scare me."

"Is Percy your brother?" Harry asked in between heaving breaths.

"Yeah."

"He's a dick."

Ron grinned at him. "Yeah, he is."

They pulled Neville to his feet. "Let's get you upstairs, mate," Harry said. "Guess we better read that book."

~~oOo~~

In the coming weeks, Harry learned that while Hogwarts - and most of its inhabitants, it seemed - was disturbingly crazy, one could do well enough if one knew what to do and what not to do. And besides, he was learning _magic_ \- that alone was enough to compensate for the weirdness of the wizarding kind.

It didn't mean he enjoyed all of it.

"Hey, Ron, I've been wondering... What's that mean?" He pointed to the words inscribed above the entrance to the Common Room as they left the Tower, heading down for breakfast.

"Oh, that. Courage, chaos, calamity. It's our House motto. The worthy principles Godric Gryffindor himself lived by."

Sceptical, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? Doesn't seem like something meant to inspire students."

"Who said it was?"

"The book did," said Harry.

"The book?"

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "The book, Ron, the book! _Hogwarts: A History._ Our guide to surviving here. You still haven't gotten 'round to reading it?"

Ron merely looked sheepish.

"Bugger" Harry said, running a hand down his face. "You'd better get to it, mate. Come on, I want to grab a bite before Potions."

Having got up later than usual today, they only just managed to swipe a sandwich each from the Great Hall before heading to the dungeons. Snape didn't tolerate lateness. Neville, as had become his habit, followed them, constantly casting fleeting glances at the motionless gargoyles. Harry patted him on the shoulder.

"Relax, mate. The book says they can't wake up during the day, remember?"

They ducked into the Potions dungeon as the last arrivals, their classmates having already taken their seats. Harry and Ron typically sat at the desk the farthest from the lectern. Moments later Snape swept in, his great cloak mysteriously billowing and flapping despite the utter lack of wind.

The Potions Master hunched over the lectern. Harry could only see his oily hair and immense hooked nose as he took a roll call.

"Crabbe."

"Present, sir."

Harry tuned him out, unpacking his supplies until his name was called.

"...Potther."

"Present. Um, sir," he added hastily.

He was yet to discover why Snape spoke like he was perpetually chewing on something disgusting. With all the animal parts in the jars lining the dungeon's walls, Harry wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

The roll call finished, Snape pinched a piece of chalk between two of his talon-like fingers and wrote the day's assignment on the board. The detailed instructions appeared magically once he was done.

"Khair-growfth Potion," Snape articulated, Harry noticed, with some difficulty. Snape must have noticed him staring, because he turned to him with a glare and added, "Sheeing as your lasht effort in my clash was mediocre at besht, do try to produce something worth a passhing grade thish time, P-Potther."

"Er, yes, Professor."

Despite an honest effort, at the end of the class Harry watched as Snape, with a great deal of satisfaction, marked what could only be a giant "T" in his little black notebook.

"Oopsh. Maybe next time, Potther."

As they marched to Defence, taught by the exceptionally nervous and exceptionally garlic-stinking Quirrell, Ron shared the latest news to come out of Hogwarts' rumour mill.

"Apparently another seventh year had to be admitted to the Hospital wing after she fainted on patrol," he said in a conspiratory tone.

"What, another girl?" Harry asked. "They keep going down like flies."

"Girls," said Ron. "Weak stomachs, I tell you."

Harry nodded in agreement, ignoring the nagging impression that something more sinister was going on. No, surely not. The book said gargoyles didn't attack patrolling students and what else could there be?

~~oOo~~

Some hours later, Clarissa Izziepray was out on patrol, scouring the eastern wing of the seventh floor for adventurous firsties (there were always some who thought _Hogwarts: A History_ was a joke, despite being repeatedly told it wasn't) and would-be lovers hiding out in broom closets and unused classrooms. Fornication had no place on school grounds.

She had her wand out, just in case. Gargoyles would recognise her prefect's badge and leave her alone, but there was no shortage of other dangers lurking in the dark corners of the castle.

Ducking into potential hiding spots as she went, Clarissa occupied herself with quietly reciting Transfiguration exam answers. NEWTs were only months away. So far, the night's hunt had been fruitless, but she was approaching the Astronomy Tower. There were bound to be students there who couldn't keep their lust at bay.

She came up on the last bend of the hallway leading to the Tower, but the moment she rounded the corner a deep darkness enveloped her, dousing out her wand's light, and she knew no more.

~~oOo~~

Christmas had come and gone and before he knew it, Harry's first semester in Hogwarts had ended. Barring several accidents, he and his classmates had all survived unscathed. Last he heard, Zacharias Smith was home, recovering while his foot grew back. That had been a nasty bit of business with the suit of armor.

He'd received four Christmas gifts: a Deluxe Package of Chocolate Frogs from Ron (three Dumbledores), a fist-sized glass sphere from Neville (the purpose of which he was yet to determine), a Mars bar from the Dursleys and an anonymous package of no particular shape. Inside, he had found an obviously magical garment and a note describing it as an Invisibility Cloak that had once belonged to his father. Harry had been sceptical initially - how could something plastered with so much glitter possibly make him invisible? It wasn't until he saw himself disappear once he tried it on in front of a mirror that a myriad of possibilities occurred to him. Chief among them was: would the Cloak allow him to safely traverse the hallways at night? Never one to say no to adventure, Harry quashed the incessant nagging of his common sense and left the relative safety of the Gryffindor Tower behind.

Excitement buzzed in his head as he approached an intersection that he knew was particularly richly "decorated" with the gargoyle statues. Moving silently was out of the question in his shoes, given that each step was punctuated by a deep, reverberating _clunk_ of his heels, so he took them off. Now padding softly in just the socks, he approached the intersection.

His stomach leapt up to his throat when the rim of an empty eye socket twitched, but the gargoyle didn't move beyond that. Harry stood still for the space of a held breath and then carefully carried on.

At night, Hogwarts was a much different beast than during the day, when it was relatively safe, even if one had to check food for poison, just in case. Harry traversed the hallways, some smothered in dead silence that caused ringing in his ears, others filled with all kinds of eerie sounds - squelching, splashing, clicking, scratching.

At some point, he stumbled into a low-ceilinged tunnel illuminated by what seemed to be fireflies. One of the insects landed on a nearby painting's frame. Harry tried to catch it, but stopped when he saw the creature munch on a blade of grass _inside the painting._ The insect itself remained entirely three-dimensional. Harry ducked under the cloud of fireflies and hurried out of the passage.

Occasionally he tried opening doors he passed on the way. Most of those that were open revealed only abandoned classrooms, full of dust-covered furniture stacked up to the ceiling. In one of them though, the furniture had been broken or disassembled in curious ways. In one corner lay a heap of wooden splinters fashioned into toothpicks. In the opposite corner was a stack of rusty nails. When he approached it, the nails promptly melted into a pool of liquid metal and a skeletal arm rose up from the puddle, grabbing at Harry's legs. He jumped back and the nails returned to their previous state. He left the classroom in haste, only remembering to put his cloak back on out in the hallway.

After what must have been hours passed, Harry arrived at a long stretch of a corridor that ended at flat wall, unremarkable but for the door and the portrait next to it. The wizard in the picture sat regally on a stone chair. In the hands resting on his lap he held a miniature gargoyle statue and was gently stroking its head. Harry's gaze traveled up to the wizard's face. He was dark-skinned and bald and he had no eyes.

"Enter if you wish," the wizard from the portrait spoke suddenly. His voice was deep, soothing. "Witness the mirror's wondrous powers for yourself."

Harry froze. He couldn't see him, could he? Should he risk asking?

Deciding in a flash, he grasped his wand, keeping it at the ready. "You can see me?" he asked in a whisper.

"Of course," the portrait replied. The wizard's mouth curved into a smile, but it was cold, grotesque without the eyes to complement it.

"But I'm invisible."

The wizard scoffed. "Nonsense. Now, will you go inside? If not, then leave."

Against his instinct, against common sense, Harry put his hand on the doorknob, taken in by the siren call of adventure and mystery.

The room beyond the door was unique in that the moonlight coming in through the arched windows was tinged blue. The cathedral-like chamber was empty, save for a gargantuan mirror. It was massive, enclosed in a decorative frame that looked to be solid gold. It stood perfectly upright, though Harry could see no supports or any kind of chain anchoring it to the ceiling. For all its apparent splendor, Harry was disappointed to see that it only reflected the room.

Until, a moment later, he realised he could see himself in it, even though he was wearing the cloak.

"Woah."

"Indeed. A rather intriguing object, that mirror is."

Pirouetting wildly, Harry raised his wand in the direction of the voice, the cloak falling off and pooling around his feet. The shoes he had been carrying cluttered to the floor.

"Good very late evening, Mr. Potter," said Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore! I wasn't-" Harry blurted and stopped, because he _was_ \- he was out after curfew and sneaking around the castle.

"That's quite alright," said Dumbledore. "I gave you that cloak. I can hardly expect you not to use it… Although I didn't think you would leave the Tower so soon after opening your gift."

Harry processed the Headmaster's words in silence, focusing on one particular piece of information: Dumbledore gave him the cloak.

"You knew my father, Professor?"

"I had the pleasure to know both your parents. They were one of the finest people I have ever met." Here, Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I was very sorry to hear about their passing."

"If you knew them… could you tell me more about them? About… how they died?" Harry asked hopefully. "I tried asking Mr. Hagrid when he picked me up last summer, but I didn't get much out of him beyond a name."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "The Gentleman Assassin."

"Yes," said Harry. "At first I thought it was a strange name for someone of his reputation, but I read about him and the more I knew… the less funny it got."

A Dark wizard of immense power, the Gentleman Assassin stirred up a lot of trouble more than a decade ago. He was named such for his habit of remaining unnervingly polite even as he maimed or killed his enemies. Harry wasn't sure he believed all eyewitness accounts, but there were too many to dismiss them entirely.

"Names have power, Mr. Potter. This one perhaps even more, for being given to him, instead of having been chosen by the man himself."

Dumbledore came closer and joined him in front of the mirror. Harry followed the Headmaster's gaze to an engraving running down the sides of the frame. Some of the letters were so high that it was hard to make them out, but eventually he deciphered the words.

SEC NEREF ERPEL P'MIS TUBSER ISED TSEPE EDROU YTON WOH SI

"It sounds like some kind of spell," Harry said, squinting at the sinister phrase. "Or an ancient, foreign language."

"Oh, it's plain English," said Dumbledore. "The craftwizard hired to do the engraving mispronounced the incantation and the words were placed backwards."

Reading from the bottom up, Harry quickly discovered the Headmaster was right. "Oh," he muttered, disappointed. "Here I was hoping."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss it, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "There is more to the mirror than meets the eye."

"But what does it have to do with the Gentleman Assassin? Or my parents?"

Dumbledore stared into his reflection's eyes and his expression hardened. "The mirror is a lure, a trap, like many other things in the castle. Such is Hogwarts' nature. The mirror, however, is much subtler in the way it ensnares people. It shows visions of things we want, which, for whatever reason, are out of our reach. Students would waste away in front of it, longing for what the mirror showed them, until nothing else mattered."

"So why is it still here?"

"I can no more remove it from this room, or the room from the castle anymore than I could remove Hogwarts from Scotland," said Dumbledore. "That is why I should like to warn you, Mr. Potter, not to give into the mirror's charm if you look into it."

"But I _am_ looking into it," said Harry, growing exasperated. "It reflected me while I was invisible, which is cool, I guess, but-"

As he spoke, Dumbledore stepped back - in the reflection it looked as though he had exited the frame in a film. The instant Harry was alone in front of the mirror, the image changed and he suddenly understood the difference between looking _at_ something and looking _into_ it.

The reflection of himself in the blue room vanished, replaced by a lack of absolutely anything. It wasn't black darkness or white blankness, it wasn't nothing, because that would be something. It send a spasm through Harry and he stumbled, fell to his knees and was pinned in place, his body painfully tense. He didn't know what he was looking at, but there was something profoundly _wrong_ about it.

Dumbledore's voice sounded remote, like it was coming from miles away. "This is what a mirror looks like when it's not reflecting anything, Mr. Potter."

The mirror changed again and the energy holding him in place evaporated and he could move again. He saw Hogwarts, but not the Hogwarts he knew - this one was less sinister, less dangerous. Hallways were free of gargoyles, except for a single one guarding the Headmaster's office. Furniture wasn't eating people and food wasn't poisoned. Students roamed the castle freely, unafraid of the caretaker or reality-bending fireflies. An inviting, cheerful picture.

Harry tore his gaze away from it and jumped back. "People really came back here, after that kind of welcome?"

"Simple curiosity, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore. "Sooner or later, students would start asking questions. What else can the mirror show me? Are the images coming from me, or from the mirror? What else can it do?"

"I'm not terribly impressed, sir." The Hogwarts he saw was… boring. Why live in a magical castle if there weren't man-eating gargoyles in it? "And I still don't know what-"

"In two hundred years that the mirror has been at Hogwarts, it has claimed every one of its victims, save for one," Dumbledore said. "That student came here for years, but walked away no worse for wear in the end." Dumbledore leaned down, locking eyes with Harry. "Can you guess who that student was?"

The answer jumped to the forefront of his thoughts immediately. Harry whispered the words. "The Gentleman Assassin."

"Just so." The Headmaster turned on his heel and made for the door. He stopped briefly, his hand on the doorknob. "There is more I could tell you, Mr. Potter and I will, when you're older and better able to understand certain things. For now, a warning will suffice." He nodded in the mirror's direction. "Be careful with your curiosity."

And with that, he left, leaving Harry entirely unsatisfied.

~~oOo~~

"Run, guys, run!"

Harry dared a glance over the shoulder at his companions. Ron was keeping pace with him well enough thanks to his longer legs, but Neville was falling further behind with every step. In the distance, a herd of gargoyles closed in, scurrying on the floor, walls and ceiling like a swarm of giant murderous insects, the scraping of claws on stone drilling into Harry's ears with painful intensity.

 _Shitshitshit…_

Harry skidded to a halt, sliding on the wet, slick floor. For some reason, this part of the castle was always flooded.

Ron stopped next to him, eyes whipping wildly between Harry and Neville. "Mate, we've got to go!"

"We can't just leave him!" Harry yelled. He pulled out his wand and eyeballed the nearest gargoyle. The creatures were clearly prolonging the chase, given that Neville had slowed down to a jog at this point.

"Do you know a spell for that?" Ron screeched, pointing in the gargoyles' general direction.

"I hope so. _Incendio!"_

His wand spat out a gout of fire, but it splashed against one of the gargoyles and dissipated. The living statue didn't seem to notice it had been hit.

And then Neville, panting heavily, almost bowled into them and the gargoyles ceased their pursuit. Instead they crept forward slowly, inch by inch. Harry knew they were done for. No way they could outrun them now.

"Bloody hell," Ron swore. "I didn't think I'd actually end up eaten by those things."

Harry still clung onto the hope that _Hogwarts: A History,_ an apparent survival guide for students, exaggerated. The gargoyles couldn't literally eat students wandering the halls at night, could they?

Their rough-hewn jaws opened, stretching impossibly wide with the cracking of joints and then the creatures began to scream. His heart hammering, Harry's gaze was drawn to needle-like fangs lining the gargoyles' mouths.

The largest of them, an unsightly monster carved from the blackest obsidian, stepped forward. Its bat-like wings unfolded, arms spread out, jaws readied to snap...

An angry hiss pierced the cacophony of screeching and scraping, stopping the gargoyles dead in their tracks. Empty eye sockets all stared at one spot and in a blink of an eye the horde seemed to boil with movement again. The gargoyles fell over each other, beating a hasty retreat. Their screams lingered in the hallway as they disappeared from sight.

Shocked, Harry looked down at a tabby cat with scraggly fur. It stood with its back arched, hissing once more after the gargoyles.

"That's..." He blinked, almost disbelieving his eyes. "A cat."

Ron grabbed his shoulder. "Mate, let's get the hell out of here. If I'm right, we don't want to be around when her owner comes."

"Too late," squeaked Neville.

Harry followed Neville's gaze to look up at possibly the ugliest man he'd ever seen. He was tall, gangly and held a magical lantern - altogether an unsettling sight.

"Eg-Egregious Fringe," Neville stammered out.

"Who?" asked Harry, leaning in, his eyes still fixed firmly on the lantern-toting stranger.

"The school caretaker," said Ron, his tone gravely.

Egregious Fringe blew the few greying hairs off of his face, but they fell over his eyes again. He wiggled his nose and blew again, but the fringe stayed in place.

"Mhmrhm," muttered Fringe. He brought the lantern up higher, blinding them. "You're in trouble."

~~oOo~~

"Professor McGonagall, I swear, we didn't mean to-"

"We were just looking for a shortcut to the Great Hall-"

"-and when we came out the other side, it was the middle of the night!"

The Professor held up a hand, silencing them at once.

"Rules are rules," she said sternly. "Only the staff and prefects may be outside the dormitories past the curfew. Detention, the three of you. Wait for Mr. Fringe outside the Gryffindor Tower. He will escort you through the castle."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted the caretaker grinning at McGonagall's words. He didn't like that grin one bit.

"Mr Hagrid requires assistance in the Foreboding Forest," the Professor continued. A protest jumped to the forefront of Harry's mind hearing that, but Ron beat him to it.

"The Forest? But, Professor, isn't it really dangerous? And... at night?"

"That is all."

As Fringe led them back to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry thought, not for the first time, that maybe aunt Petunia had been right about wizards.

~~oOo~~

Their detention had been scheduled the week before final exams were to take place. Harry, Ron and Neville waited for Fringe in the corridor leading to the Gryffindor Tower, as per Professor McGonagall's instructions. It wasn't yet curfew, so they were safe from the gargoyles, but the hour was approaching fast. Neville kept checking his watch every few seconds, effectively spreading his anxiety among all three of them, until Fringe arrived with three minutes to spare, accompanied by his cat.

"You're all here," Fringe croaked, blinding them with his trusty lantern. "Good. Follow me."

As he led them through the castle, Harry's hand itched to raise his wand at every sign of danger, but the cat kept the gargoyles well away. Some outright fled when they approached, but many were daring enough to watch them walk by from their high perches. The time it took them to get downstairs was unsettling enough that Harry breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the Entrance Hall.

Fringe pushed one wing of the front gate open with more strength than Harry would have guessed resided in the caretaker's long, stick-like limbs. Outside in the courtyard, the groundskeeper awaited them.

Mr. Hagrid had sat down on top of the low wall surrounding the courtyard and he was fiddling with an enormous crossbow. The weapon sported a variety of knobs, buttons and tiny levers and it was almost as tall as Harry.

"Mr. Hagrid," said Fringe, lowering his lantern. "Here are the miscreants."

The groundskeeper responded with a nod and a grunt and rose heavily from his seat. He regarded the three of them with an unreadable expression, hidden as it was behind his immense beard, and beckoned for them to follow. He took point, the crossbow resting on his shoulder. As they exited the courtyard out onto the grounds, Harry caught Fringe's grin sending them off.

Down the slope they went, descending from the castle hill towards the edge of the Forest. They stopped shortly by Hagrid's hut.

"Wait 'ere," the groundskeeper ordered and went around the back. He came back in a minute, accompanied by something large and four-legged. Harry couldn't tell what it was, since the creature kept to the shadows. In fact, it seemed to attract them, as if it was deliberately hiding from sight.

"That's Fang," said Hagrid, pointing with his thumb. No further explanation was offered. Hagrid then marched straight at the tree line. The shadowy creature slinked away into darkness, disappearing from sight, perhaps to scout ahead.

Harry stood between Ron and Neville, looking up at the trees. Here, they were mostly tall and slim, with dark grey bark, but he'd read in _Hogwarts: A History_ that the Forest's landscape changed quickly if you went far enough. If the book was to be believed, the woods were home to creatures a great deal more dangerous than the castle's gargoyles.

"Hey, you." Hagrid had come back, having seen they hadn't followed him. "Move yer arses."

Resigned, Harry lit up his wand and braved the first few steps on the path peeking out from between the trees. Ron and Neville followed his lead, staying close.

The group assumed a rather leisurely pace initially, but soon Hagrid had them almost jogging to keep up with his enormous strides. He led them deeper into the Forest, far enough that the path eventually vanished. They had to scale enormous, twisted roots of great trees that began to appear more frequently and measure each step, lest they trod too close to a carnivorous mushroom or something even worse. Harry did his best to not lose sight of their guide while encouraging Neville to keep up with him and Ron.

"Come on, mate," Ron barked at Neville. "You don't want to get eaten by werewolves, do you?"

Harry elbowed him. "That's not helping."

But then Neville went past them, his pace increased such that he was soon walking alongside Hagrid.

"Did you say something?" Ron asked, sporting a smug grin.

Harry just elbowed him again.

"Mr. Hagrid, can you at least tell us where we're going?" Harry asked a few minutes later, when the groundskeeper suddenly stopped in a small clearing. Hagrid turned to them, his right hand hefting the crossbow, his left coated in some thick, silver liquid.

"Unicorn blood," said Hagrid and wiped his fingers on his coat. The blood left a glittering smudge. "Sommun's been huntin'em. Killin'em. It has to stop. You're gonna help."

Harry shared a look with Ron. "We're just first-years! What can we do to help stop a unicorn-hunter?"

The groundskeeper grunted and hefted his crossbow to his shoulder. "Juss keep'n eye out."

"This is bloody mad," Ron muttered. "How's your Fire Charm?"

"My Tickling Jinx is better," said Harry. "Come on, I don't want to get separated from Mr. Hagrid."

An hour or three later - Harry had completely lost track of time - they were still trudging through the Forest. Even Hagrid had slowed down and Harry was so tired the Forest didn't seem so Foreboding anymore. He even considered noxing his wand-light because his arm was so sore from holding it up, when he spotted something through a patch of shrubs. Definitely movement.

 _Oh, Christ. Couldn't this have happened earlier?_

He stopped to observe anyway, knowing that he would never forgive himself if he didn't. "Hey guys, I think there's something over there," he said, lowering his voice.

Eyes locked on his target, he noxed his wand and carefully crept forward, trying not to swear out loud every time he tripped. He scratched his hands on the thorny shrubs, but didn't pay it any mind, absorbed by his discovery.

It was definitely someone.

"Can you see who that is?" he whispered.

A few more steps and he ducked behind one of the giant trees, peeking just above its roots.

It was _two_ someones.

Then the figures shifted and Harry recognised one of them, though the other was too shrouded in darkness.

 _What's Quirrell doing out here?_

The Defence Professor was backing away from the other figure, one hand armed with the wand and the other rising to his turban.

"S-stay b-b-back! I said stay b-back, Snape!"

Harry's eye widened and he turned to look at the others, only to discover there was no one behind him. They must not have noticed when he'd wandered off. He stiffened, staring at the disturbing _lack_ of his companions.

 _That's bloody fantastic…_

He turned to Quirrell again, wishing he'd taken the cloak with him. By now, Snape had entered the patch of moonlight and Harry could see the grin, so wide it threatened to split his face. Were Snape's fangs bizarrely big or was it just light making them seem that way?

Suddenly, Quirrell withdrew his left hand from the turban and pelted Snape in the face with a handful of small projectiles.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. "Gharlic? You fffool."

"I'm warning you, S-snape, leave m-me alone!" said Quirrell, sounding panicked.

"I shall rhip you apart limb from limb," Snape purred, spitting as he stalked forward. "The vorld will be a betther plashe without a moron like you in it."

Snape lunged, teeth flashing and knocked Quirrell to the ground. As soon as the Defence Professor went down, however, Snape leapt back, releasing a blood-curdling scream. Quirrell jumped to his feet and viciously withdrew the blade he'd pierced Snape with. The knife flashed silver and red, blood dripping from it. Snape collapsed, clutching at the wound.

"It won't kill you," said Quirrell, twirling the knife casually, his apparent fear gone along with his stammer. "But it will keep you down long enough for me to accomplish my task. I cannot fathom why the Assassin forbade me from killing you, but I don't question my orders."

"You…" Snape gurgled, pointing an accusing finger at Quirrell. "You won't geth away with thish…"

Quirrell laughed. "Oh, but I will. How fortunate Dumbledore was called away to London, isn't it?"

Snape glared one more time and passed out, sprawled on the ground.

"Now, there's just one more thing…" said Quirrell. He wiped the knife on Snape's robes and turned in place, looking straight at Harry. "Come out, Potter. I won't bite. Not like he would," he added, pointing the knife's tip at Snape.

Harry backpedalled, trying to get up backwards as he haphazardly aimed his wand at the approaching Quirrell.

 _"Incendio!"_

His wand spat out flame, but Quirrell slashed his own and the flame dissipated.

"There's no need for that, Potter. I'm sure the Assassin will be delighted to meet you."

Quirrell flicked his wand and Harry's own flew out of his hand. He closed his eyes, expecting a curse, but his dark thoughts were dispersed by a low growl coming from behind.

Hagrid was tearing through the shrubs, crossbow aimed at Quirrell's chest. Ron and Neville peeked out from behind him, their wands up. None of them were the source of the increasingly loud growl. It thrummed deeply in Harry's chest, slowly building into a fierce bark.

Fang emerged from the other side. It was the biggest, baddest dog Harry had ever seen, but it didn't exactly look _well._ Despite its size, the beast looked weak, diseased, though it certainly seemed eager enough. Between the torn skin, patches of missing fur and grotesquely mangled legs, it looked like it had died violently and then came back to life.

Quirrell regarded Fang with a sneer. "I've faced worse than hellhounds, Mr. Hagrid. You cannot hope to stop me."

Hagrid didn't engage in banter. He flicked a switch on the crossbow and the bolt's tip suddenly lit up with fire, becoming white-hot. It zipped forth with a _thunk_ of the released string. A blink of an eye later Fang lunged with a roar, while Ron and Neville released Fire Charms.

Quirrell raised his wand, there was an explosion of magic and everything went black.

~~oOo~~

When he came to, Harry found himself sitting up against a wall, his hands and feet bound tightly with a rope. He tried to wiggle out of the bonds, but Quirrell quickly put an end to his escape attempt.

"Don't even think about it, Potter," the wizard spat angrily. "You're not getting away."

The room was large and dark, the only light coming from a lone torch by the door. Quirrell stood at the far end, examining something on the floor, ignoring Harry for the moment. Between them stood, of all things, a harp, playing a soft melody, the strings plucked delicately by a hand that wasn't there.

Left of the instrument lay a dog even larger than Fang. Harry had never seen an elephant in person, but he imagined this monstrosity had to be at least as large as one. It had three heads, each easily as big as Fang was and it seemed to be sleeping. Harry was close enough to one of the heads that he felt the hot air hitting him in the face each time the dog breathed.

Sitting still, Harry's gaze flicked between Quirrell, the harp and the dog-monster. It seemed Quirrell was working for the Gentleman Assassin. Why would the Assassin be interested in him, tough? The reading he'd done told him he wasn't the only person whose parents the Assassin had killed. And why the hell was a harp here?

Thoughts were racing through his mind while Quirrell grew increasingly irritated with whatever it was he was doing. He blasted the floor with a curse, but it must have not had the desired effect, because he clutched at his turban, sitting skewed on top of his head and screamed at the ceiling. At that moment, the spell controlling the harp pulled too sharply and one of the strings snapped, causing a jarring break in the music.

The dog snored and one of its eyes blinked open for a moment.

Harry went frozen stiff in a way that had nothing to do with his bonds. Was the harp keeping the dog asleep?

Praying that he was right, he pulled up his legs against himself. He could see no other way out of his predicament.

He looked at Quirrell again, but the man was busy trying to blow up the floor. As quietly as he could, he pushed himself to stand up on wobbly legs, leaning on the wall for balance. Glancing at the dog and then Quirrell, he made a tiny jump forward. Thankfully, Quirrell hadn't noticed.

Harry continued to make his way towards the harp. He was almost there, almost touching it, when Quirrell turned around.

"POTTER!"

Harry threw himself at the instrument, sending it crashing to the floor. The harp let out a final vibrating _clang_ and the music stopped. Almost immediately, all six of the dog's eyes flew open and it rose unsteadily, barely fitting in the space between the floor and ceiling.

A great force flung him across the room, away from the harp and he landed painfully a good distance away. His glasses had slipped from his face. He could make out blurry shapes: Quirrell's purple robes, the brighter blot that was the harp and the enormous lumbering form of the dog. The harp swung upright again, but then the dog swiped one of its paws, shattering the instrument into a thousand tiny pieces.

Harry wiggled furiously as Quirrell unleashed his repertoire of curses upon the dog. The ropes binding him gave way just enough for him to free himself. He crawled back, one arm feeling the way across the dimly lit room.

He hit a wall. His hand sneaked up. No, not a wall. This wasn't stone. _The door._

He pulled himself up by the doorknob and turned upon hearing Quirrell screaming. He squinted, but it didn't do much for his vision. He noticed the purple of Quirrell's robes flying wildly through the air, as if the man was riding a particularly disobedient broom. The dog growled and howled triumphantly and the purple blotch plummeted to the floor, landing with a dull thump.

"Oh _shit."_

Harry pulled the door open and stumbled out into the hallway, backing away from it. Moments later one of the dog's heads snapped through the door, the snout sticking out and barking angrily. The racket shook the entire hallway.

Harry couldn't see very well, but he could tell it was still night. Around him, gargoyles stirred to life as the dog did its best to try and tear through the wall.

 _I am so dead._

For the second time tonight, he resigned himself to fate, but then an angry hiss sent the gargoyles running. The dog was still relentlessly bashing itself against the wall, but the stone wasn't budging.

Harry spotted the familiar tabby cat strolling down the hallway, its tail proudly straightened. Behind it walked Egregious Fringe, carrying his lantern. Harry never would have thought he would feel so relieved seeing the caretaker.

Fringe stopped in front of Harry and set the lantern down. "Can't seem to stop getting in trouble, can you, Potter?"

~~oOo~~

 _Tick-tick-tick,_ Ganymede slipped entirely behind Jupiter. _Three in the morning,_ thought Albus, deciphering the hour on his Sol-watch and pocketed the device. He regarded the scene before him. Quirinus Quirrell had been distributed over the considerable square footage of the torch-lit chamber. Albus nudged the decapitated head with the tip of his shoe, rolling it over so he could look at what was left of Quirinus' face.

"What a pity," he said with an air of regret. He had been a promising young man, though his sanguivoriphobia had become a slight nuisance recently. Not to mention his unprofessional dislike of Severus. Speaking of... "Severus, what do you conclude?"

Severus ran a tongue over his lips, an eccentricity Albus found rather endearing. "It would sheem Fluffy had gothen tcho him."

"How fortunate Mr. Potter was able to intervene."

A grimace flashed on his colleague's face. "Yesh, indeed," Severus muttered.

"Better this than him making off with the Stone," Albus said, not without a note of sadness. Such a promising young man. "Oh well. No need to stir up trouble. The Board of Governors has enough work as it is. Severus, you should get some rest. You might pop your stitches. Go and lie down. I'll have our caretaker clean up here."

Albus left the room, compiling a list of trustworthy elves Eggy could enlist to help him. That done, his thoughts readily strayed in another direction. As regrettable as Quirinus' death was, he counted tonight as a victory. Thanks to Harry Potter's extraordinary courage, another of the Gentleman Assassin's plots had been thwarted.

Nicolas awaited him in the office, conversing with Fawkes.

"Ah, Albus. Thank you for seeing me on short notice," said Nicolas.

Albus glided through the office and sat down in his high-backed chair. He couldn't help but notice that Fawkes looked rather cross with him. Albus understood completely. Nicolas was a marvellous conversationalist.

"Don't mention it," said Albus. He removed the fist-sized crystal from his robe and placed it on the desk. Nicolas picked it up, knocked on it several times, bit down on an edge and lifted it to his eye, looking as if through a spyglass.

"Seems to be no worse for wear. Thank you for taking it into deposit for me. I can't bring myself to trust goblins."

Albus chose not to comment. Nicolas was a passionate proponent of exclusively wizarding banking, and Albus longed for his bed. It was awfully late.

"No trouble at all, my friend."

"I hate moving," Nicolas grumbled, hiding the Stone beneath his coat. "True, I only have to do it once every one hundred years, but that only makes me hate it more. Well, until next time, Albus."

~~oOo~~

To his disappointment, he hadn't been excused from having to take exams.

The remainder of the term had gone quickly in a flurry of last-minute studies and lazing about afterwards. Harry, Ron and Neville usually went out to sit by the lake. The Common Room had been impossible to relax in, given Hermione Granger's insistence on recreating every one of their exams from memory to check her answers. She then offered to do the same for all first-year Gryffindors. Harry considered the offer for a moment, but Ron unceremoniously dragged him and Neville outside. In hindsight, it was probably the best idea Ron had had the entire year.

They tried their best to get him to spill about what happened after Quirrell took him, but Harry was keeping his promise to Dumbledore not to tell anyone. If he wanted the Headmaster to tell him more about his parents, he wanted to generate as much goodwill as he could. And it's not like they couldn't guess. By the next day the entire school had somehow found out that Quirrell had been in a fatal "accident", even though Dumbledore had made an announcement in the morning, claiming that the Defence Professor had resigned. Harry suspected Snape was the one who leaked it.

All three of them were also sworn to secrecy regarding the fact that Snape was a vampire. Well, Ron and Neville hadn't actually seen Quirrell stab Snape and therefore hadn't figured out the secret, so in the end they'd come out with a net knowledge gain.

"Crazy year, huh?" said Ron as they sat on a fallen tree, looking down at the lake.

"I thought this was just standard fare around here," Harry replied. "Death seems to wait behind every corner."

"Maybe. Fred and George always claimed they had to fight monsters just to get to class, but I can tell when they're exaggerating." Ron's brow creased thoughtfully. "Now I'm not so sure how much of that was made up."

"Gran says things get… more intense for older students," Neville piped up. "Says it's the castle testing the students, to see if they're worthy of studying magic here."

Harry craned his neck to look at Hogwarts. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"What are you going to do this summer?"

Harry deflated a little. He would be back at Privet Drive tomorrow. After the year he'd had, Little Whinging would be even more boring. "Probably weeding my aunt's garden." He let out a sigh of frustration. "I hate gardening."

Ron patted his back. "You're not alone, mate. I bet I'll have to degnome our garden every day. Those buggers breed like rabbits."

"I want to work on a project for Professor Sprout," said Neville. "So, we'll all be doing garden work."

"Yeah, but it doesn't count for you," Ron grumbled. "You like it."

Neville smiled apologetically. "I think I could make it up to you. Would you guys like to visit over the summer?"

"What, your place?" Harry asked.

Neville nodded. "I'll have to ask my gran, but I think she'll say yes. She always complains that I don't have any friends."

"Well, now you've got two." Harry bumped shoulders with him. "And that'd be brilliant. I've never been to wizarding home before."

"Alright, then. Expect my owl."

Harry leaned back and deliberately fell off the tree trunk, bursting out laughing at Ron and Neville's faces. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.


End file.
